Phantasy
by FunkyFish1991
Summary: It starts with a boy in a cursed castle and a girl chased through a storm. And even though they both learn to love, will it be enough to save them from the enemies of their pasts?....based loosely on Beauty and the Beast. DxS
1. Prologue

**A/N - i don't own Danny Phantom or Beauty and the Beast**

**ok so this (as you may have gathered) is based loosely off of Beauty and the Beast (i love that story!), and is obviously A.U. hope you like it!**

* * *

_Prologue_

* * *

High up in one of the turrets of a great castle nestled into the side of a magnificent mountain three candles flickered happily. A storm raged outside, but the drapes were drawn and the three figures in the spacious room were oblivious to it.

A teenaged boy with dark skin was sparring playfully with a girl of the same dark skin tone, each clutching a wooden sword and using a large brass platter as a shield. Lying on his stomach on the bed a boy of the same age with midnight black hair was watching them, an intrigued smile on his face.

After a few minutes, the girl managed to knock the sword from the boy's hand and poked him gently in the stomach.

"Gotcha!" she said in joy, holding her sword above her head in victory.

"Well fought Valerie!" The dark haired boy congratulated. He slipped off the bed and went to help up his friend. "Don't worry Tucker."

Tucker shrugged. "I never was very good at it anyway."

"No, you weren't." Valerie agreed.

Tucker made a face, but dropped it quickly and the trio laughed happily.

* * *

Meanwhile downstairs the Great Hall was alive with activity on the stormy night. Servants bustled around fitfully, laughing as they knocked shoulders and spilled their various beverages and platters on the floor, or even sometimes on the guests – who were too pathetically drunk to notice. The revels had been going on for hours, yet the drink still flowed, and the kitchens were still busily working, churning out dish after dish, their quality dropping rapidly as it grew later and the guests became less aware of what they were stuffing into their mouths between lurid jokes and laughter.

The grand lord of the castle sat his broad frame back in his enormous chair at the head of the table, watching the revellers with amusement. He reached for his wine glass, barely noting the bellowing knock from the castle door. He was vaguely aware of a servant running past him to open the door. He assumed it was a very late guest, and reached forwards for his platter.

But a hand fell on his shoulder and stayed him. His servant, Michael, leant down to whisper in his ear.

"No, sorry," he replied, reaching once more for his food in excitement as Michael scurried off once more. The man sitting at his right hand gave him a puzzled look and set down his utensils.

"What was that?" Baron Masters asked him in curiosity.

He waved his huge hand dismissively. "Nothing, someone's trying to get into the castle from the storm. But we have no room unfortunately - the castle is full as it is."

The Baron nodded, accepting this, and drank once more from his goblet.

But Michael reappeared and spoke to his master again. "Sir, she will not leave."

The lord sighed greatly and stood up. His small wife looked up at him as he left, and he smiled at her reassuringly.

Nobody, of course, noticed the Baron sitting across from her gazing at her adoringly. Nobody ever did.

The lord walked over to the door Michael was holding open. He started in fright when he saw the woman before him. She was old – so old she looked as though she should not really be walking around. Like she should be in a coffin, deep in the ground. Her back was too hunched for her to be able to look up at the hulking man before her properly. Her eyes were hollow black dips in her wrinkled and sagging face. Her hands were wizened and freakishly thin and bony. Her knees tucked in to each other. She wore a heavy cape, pulling it close to herself against the bitter wind and stinging rain.

Revulsion shuddered down the large man's back as he looked at her. She tilted her head back at an unnatural angle to look at him.

"Please," she murmured. "Shelter?"

His mouth was open, his breaths deep and shaky. Horror filled him. Her ugliness was mesmerizing.

"No," he whispered in fear, his head shaking.

"Please," she begged. Her hand reached inside her gown, and when it returned back out a rose was laced between her fingers. A black rose, white staining the tips of each petal. It, like her, was horrible, yet mesmerizing.

She held it out to him, like an offering. "An enchanted rose. Please."

"No!" He shouted, the horror of the gothic rose adding to his fright. "No!" He slammed the door right in her face and backed away from it, swiping out at Michael to stay away.

His wife ran over to him, shocked at his terror.

"Jack?" she fussed. "Whatever is the matter?"

Suddenly the door was blown off its hinges and it shot into the room, sliding across the floor to stop just at Jack and his wife's feet.

"Get behind me Maddie!" He ordered, as she complied, terrified, clutching the silver locket around her neck for comfort.

Through the portal walked the old woman. Her eyes had narrowed to menacing slits, the rose still in her outstretched hand.

* * *

Hearing the screams and noises from downstairs, the three youths in the turret room exchanged looks.

"Let's go see what it is!" Valerie said excitedly, grabbing her sword.

"Yeah!" the pale skinned boy concurred, grabbing Tucker's.

"Uh, Valerie, Danny, I don't think,"

"Quiet Tuck!" the two children said in unison, not meanly, just sharply.

Valerie led the trio out of the room, followed by Danny and a quaking Tucker. They made their way quickly through the castle, taking the servants' routes Valerie and Tucker's parents had shown them before, snaking down passageways and stairwells, gaining momentum and curiosity when they began to notice and pass people screaming, crying and running for the exits.

They reached the Great Hall in the midst of terrible turmoil. Even more people were running and shouting, and guards were springing out of the woodwork and running to the great doors. Baron Masters sprinted towards the three, bypassing them and running away down the hall, for the kitchen, and the exit, before they could ask him what was wrong.

The three teens inched forwards, to the balcony. They looked down in shock at the scene playing out before them. Guards were lying immobile all over the floor, Michael along with them. Tucker stared in horror at his father's body. A creeping mist was all over the floor, the door blown off its hinges and allowing the gusts outside to bring in their destruction and the rain. In the midst of it all were Danny's parents, cowering on the floor before a hideous old woman who held a black flower in her wizened hand.

But before the trio's almost disbelieving eyes, pale tendrils of misty fog surrounded the woman, swirling mystically, and her horrible exterior melted away. When the mists cleared a beautiful woman with gleaming blonde hair, in a brilliant white dress stood in her place, still holding out the gothic rose.

"Wh-who are you?" Jack stammered.

Her voice was unearthly, echoing and lilting. "I am Alira – the Ghost of the Heart." Her free hand came up to point at the cowering man before her. "And you – Lord Fenton – your heart is empty. Your heart lacks love."

"That's not true!" Jack protested vehemently, his voice afraid. "I love my wife! I love my son!"

She hissed at him inhumanly, her perfect teeth bared, her hand lowering. "But you lacked the feeling in your heart needed to accept a poor old woman into your home for the night! You fool! You lack real love."

"No!"

"Yes!" She snapped at him, the white aura glowing around her sharpening and swirling madly. "You do not know what real love is."

"Then tell me!"

"It's too late for that – for you." She raised the glowing hand in his direction once more.

"No!"

Her head snapped up as the voice's sudden loud cry reverberated around the cavernous room. She caught sight of the young man on the balcony. She smiled and lifted her hand to him. Under her power he floated down to the space between her and his parents, and fell to sit on the stone, his legs splayed, his hands on the floor behind him, his whole body drawn back in fear.

"Danny!" Maddie screamed in fear.

"It may be too late for you, Lord Fenton, but your son? Your son I will give a chance. He does not deserve to die for your mistakes."

She closed her eyes, and when they reopened they were glowing white. "I curse this castle. I condemn Lord and Lady Fenton to oblivion. I curse this boy – Daniel Fenton. I curse him to be a hideous, horrible creature. I curse him to strike fear into the hearts of all who behold him. And in this unlovable form he must find love. _He_ must learn what real love is. If he manages to do this, he and his parents, along with everyone else in this building will be freed from my curse.

"But if he has not done so by the time the last petal from this rose has fallen, he, too, along with everyone else in this castle will suffer their fate for all eternity!"

The rose lifted into the air before her, away from her outreached hands, turning slightly. Suddenly she clapped her hands together. From them a terrible white energy radiated, wiping across the whole castle, enveloping the terror-stricken forms of the lord and lady of the castle, their son, his friends up on the balcony, each and every servant in the whole castle, the lone Baron, paralyzed just inches from the kitchen door and his escape.

Unnoticed by anyone, the pressure of the blast ripped the locket from Lady Fenton's neck and sent it, glowing supernaturally, flying out of the open double doors and down the steep mountainside, tumbling down amongst the pines.

The village below noticed the light shining out, and terror struck them deeply. To this day, none have ever set foot in the forest surrounding the ancient mountain.

* * *

Deep within the castle a huddled form sat, mourning softly. Something struck within him and he looked up at the black rose floating in the middle of the dark room, glowing white, turning slightly in the air.

A petal detached itself from the outside of the flower and tumbled softly to the floor.

An otherworldly howl of pain echoed through the castle, followed by a flash of green light. The huddled figure gaped at the incinerated mirror in horror, the shards reflecting his terrible appearance hundreds of time over. He looked at his glowing green hand in agony, burying his face in the arms that rested on his drawn up knees.

It was hopeless, and he knew it. It was a trick curse. It was impossible.

For who could ever love…a ghost?

* * *

**you likey? please review!**

**constructive critisism and plot ideas/things you wanna see are always welcome! à bientôt!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	2. Adventure

**A/N - i don't own Danny Phantom or Beauty and the Beast**

**

* * *

**

_One_

* * *

The smashing cacophony coming from downstairs was hard to miss. Shouts and screams interlaced with the sounds of shattering glass and china. The volume of the sounds increased, more and more, until eventually hulking footsteps could be heard on the stairs. 

Her heart was pounding as she listened, each noise grating at her soul. Terror threatened to break the barrier of her control as the twisting of her hands around each other increased.

There was a very loud thunk in the hallway. Her head snapped up when she heard it. She knew it well enough to be able to tell that it was the sound of a body falling to the floor. She prayed fervently that it was him.

Her hands moved into the position of prayer, her lips moving in a silent but rapid pleading.

_Please let it be him who fell, please let it be him, oh God please let it be_….

Her hopes were dashed as the door to her room suddenly flew open, smacking against the wall behind it with a slam. The noise made her neck jerk painfully and she scrambled off her bed, shrinking back into the corner of her room, as far away from him as she could possibly get without sinking right into the shadows around her.

His bloodshot eyes scanned the dark room almost unseeingly.

Almost.

His eyes fixed on her and her chest constricted.

"Come here," he growled.

Every muscle in her body tensed, especially the ones in her throat, as she hesitated, then obeyed. She knew that she would not escape his wrath no matter what she did, but there was no point in causing him more angst – eventually it would lead to more pain.

"Yes, uncle?" Her voice was strong, but fear still quivered beneath the surface.

He strode forwards, his heavy boots thumping across the floorboards towards her. She held her ground, though every part of her was shrieking for her to turn and run.

He still wore his coat, the end of it swinging around his knees, at the turned over tops of his boots. His breeches puffed out over them, his un-tucked shirt falling midway down his thighs. All the buttons were open, his necktie loosened almost to the point of falling off. His long hair whipped around his face with his motions, only the tiniest bit of it still left in the brown ribbon at the base of his neck.

His eyes were worryingly red; the pupils dilated almost enough to swallow the irises whole. They were rimmed with dark pink, the color of his swollen lips. His gaunt cheekbones were accentuated by the dim light and harsh shadows in her bedroom.

He walked right up to her until his body was less than an inch from hers, and he lifted his hands, burying them in the fabric of her nightdress at the base of her neck and lifted her from the ground. She felt the thin hem of the light fabric press into her neck like a rope and, eyes wide with fear, she locked her fingers around his wrists, struggling to pull herself up enough so that she could breathe. She only barely succeeded.

His horribly stinking mouth drew right close to her face, but she was too busy fighting not to be strangled that she didn't even notice, though her eyes were open fully. Her tongue was curled in the middle of her mouth, her eyes looking at the ceiling, rolling slightly as she gasped and squirmed.

"Why are you undressed? In the company of others? You're no different from your _mother_," he spat out the word, a biting contrast to his scratchily rasped speech. "Just the same – a whore. A whore!"

With that he lifted her further, as her face reddened and swelled, her struggles weakening. He then gathered his drunken strength and threw her slight form clean across the room. She slammed into the opposite wall with a horrific thunk. Her broken body instantly fell to the floor. Her shoulder connected with the edge of her pine vanity, flipping her onto her back as she landed on the ground.

The agony in her back warred with the searing, burning pain across her crushed windpipe. It felt as though it was pushing itself back into shape, causing her as much pain as its distortion had.

She took haggard, gasping inhales of air, the smell of her uncle now easily detectable in the air. Her face was filmed with sweat, the red stain on her cheeks dying down slightly as she clasped her neck with cold fingers.

She was still recovering when he stormed over to her once more, grabbing her hair and pulling her up by it. He jerked her delicate face right to his, pulling her right onto the very tips of her toes to match his height.

"Well, I guess I won't have to deal with you much longer now – will I?"

His lips contorted into a sneer that could be interpreted as a grin, and threw her sideways onto her bed. She rolled over on it, slipping down the side and sitting, her whole body screaming, on the floor, relishing its soothing coolness.

He stood over her, his fists on his hips, swaying slightly.

He answered the question she could not have physically asked even if she had been brave enough.

"I'm marrying you off, _dearest_." Scorn dripped from his voice as her head came up just enough for her to stare at him in shock from underneath her dark eyebrows.

"To who?" He once again answered her unspoken words. "Dominic Baxter's son. Lost to the idiot in cards tonight. But don't worry – your good old guardian isn't stupid enough to gamble away our money, like most men would. No, I gambled something far less valuable – you."

His words didn't even register in her mind as black swirled into the sides of her vision.

She heard him turning and walking towards the door. Her strength completely failed her, and she fell sideways and smacked onto the floor. Her whole body shivered painfully, and out of the thin tunnel of vision she had left she saw him retreating down the hallway, before her eyes closed and her whole body went limp.

* * *

The servants in the Manson household had learned well how to be silent. But when the master of the house stumbled back late at night, drunk, they had learned to be invisible. 

The sunlight spilled through a window with one boarded pane, a memento from a drinking night of a month or so before, the curtains unclosed from the previous night, forgotten. It bathed the small room in gold, illuminating the vanity, a chunk of wood from the side snapped off and lying on the ground. Lighting up the long crack in the plaster just above that, a few chips of paint missing from around it.

The tiny, crumpled figure huddled at the side of the bed, messily lying there like a discarded piece of clothing.

The figure stirred slightly. Her hand crept out, stretching and clasping at the ground, then constricting once more, before reaching out again; using this caterpillar motion to move a few inches from her body.

Her body shakily rose, pushing up on her arms. She pulled her legs under her chest and rose up onto her knees, sitting on her feet. Her mouth was pursed against the pain of movement, but she rose onto worryingly unsteady legs. She pulled off the nightdress and walked over to the pail of water sitting by the door that someone had thoughtfully closed last night. She sunk once more to her knees before it, splashing the cold water on her face.

Her mouth was wide open as she trailed the water across her whole body, wincing as she touched her neck, feeling the swollen flesh.

She dressed next, slipping on first her undergarments, forgoing a corset as her petite frame had no need for it. The dress she wore was just past knee length, a thin, cheap grey fabric, showing her black boots below it. She eased a scratchy shawl over her shoulders, moaning in pain as the agony seared across her back, stabbing at her shoulder blades and pulling at her spine.

She took a glance at the blue-purple skin of her neck in the vanity mirror, her stomach tightening, grabbing a familiar gauzy piece of material from the top drawer, then turned and went downstairs for breakfast.

* * *

Later she was walking through the village, a basket over her arm, and a light hooded cape pulled as far down over her face as she could get it to hide her throat, which was also enshrouded with the thick grey necktie she had grabbed from her room. 

She had already collected the foods and supplies she needed, and had an unpleasant encounter with a cruel girl she knew was called Paulina. Apparently the news of her 'betrothal' was spreading through the small town of Amity Park, and this slutty girl was furious that Samantha was to marry the most eligible bachelor in town.

For all Samantha cared, he could have been a god sent right from heaven, she still wouldn't have wanted to be chained to him forevermore. The whole idea of marriage made her shudder. With her father, after they were thrown out of their home, and even before, they had had adventures together. And that was what she wanted. Adventure. She needed to escape this boring little town and do something with her life.

She suddenly felt a wide hand on her shoulder, interrupting her thoughts, and she wheeled around as fast as her injuries would allow.

A blond-haired man was standing before her. He was taller than her, and quite well built, but she noticed on him the soft hands typical of most of the richer men in this area, showing that he did not do manual work – ever. Subconsciously she pulled her own calloused hands deep into the folds of her cape.

He grinned, but it was a grin she did not trust. Something pompous practically radiated from this person, and it swelled distaste in her stomach.

"Excuse me, but are you Samantha Manson?"

Her eyes widened at his knowing her name, though she did not have any idea who he was.

"How?" She croaked.

He shrugged. "I heard the baker calling you Miss Manson, and I put two and two together."

_You're a genius_, she sneered in her mind.

"Who?" Her throat rasped painfully. He didn't give any signs of noticing her pain.

"Dashiel Baxter – I'm your betrothed as of last night."

Shock struck her like her uncle's fist into her stomach. This unpleasant creature was what she was going to have to endure every day for the rest of her life, until the second she died? Her life practically flashed before her eyes.

She forced herself to not run away, and dipped her head curtly. "Dashiel."

"Call me Dash." He put one hand on his hip, shifting his weight onto one leg. She smiled inwardly when she realized that his pose was decidedly feminine. "So, what's with the hood? You that ugly?"

A snarled reply bubbled up in her throat, but before she could try to croak it out, his white hand slipped up to the rim of the hood and jerked it back, revealing her delicately fine, pale features. Her light violet eyes sparked in anger at the unwarranted action.

He whistled – much like her uncle had done that time the Baron gifted him with Persephone, the most magnificent horse Samantha had ever seen. Her lips curled in annoyance when she heard that noise coming from him for her.

She slapped his hand away from her shoulder, where it was resting, his fingers still curled around the fabric.

"What?" he said defensively, leaning in close to her and trailing his finger down her jaw from her ear. "You're mine anyway."

She refrained from slapping that leer right off his snide little face then and there, knowing her uncle might kill her for that. Instead she backed away, clutching the basket to her chest.

"Goodbye Dashiel," she hissed, turning on her heel and stalking quickly away.

"It's Dash!" he called after her. She ignored him and continued on along the path to her house.

She fumed silently as she stomped up the dirt track. By the time she reached the weeping willow tree the anger had died down a little, and she could not resist the urge to sit down by her favorite tree.

Flowers splayed their petals for her beneath the silvery blanket of the willow. She loved nature so much. She looked down at the little flowers lovingly. They were silently beautiful. They did not hurt her. They never shouted at her. They never made her feel stupid and small. They were the best friends she had.

She laughed half-heartedly at how pathetic that was. Truth be told, most people in town found her very strange. She was rarely seen there, and never without her cape, to hide the damage her uncle did to her so frequently. Rumors circulated in earnest about her, and some of them hurt her. Her uncle delighted in sharing the worser ones with her as often as possible.

After a long while she rose to her feet and continued on to her home. As she traipsed up the drive she suddenly noticed a carriage in the driveway. She recognized it instantly and the basket fell, completely forgotten, to the floor as she sprinted to the front door.

She span into the house and saw the tall blond figure as soon as she did. A gasp of happiness escaped her and the man turned. His face broke into a grin and he opened his arms wide for her.

She ran into them, silenced with joy. She buried her face in the crook of his neck as he held her tightly. He was hurting her bruises, but she didn't care.

"Father," she whispered, her slender fingers grasping huge chunks of fabric from the back of his coat.

"Hello, darling," he said, pushing her away from him to study her. "You are even lovelier than the last time I saw you. You remind me so much of your mother," he fondly flicked the end of her nose. A smile played on her lips.

"I've missed you."

"I know." He squeezed her hand. "So, how's it been here with Uncle Philip?"

Philip took that as his cue to slip in and greet his brother before she could answer. "Jeremy, good to see you. What on Earth brings you back here?"

"Just passing through. I'm on my way north, just looking for money. Heard there's plenty to be made up there." He turned to his raven-haired daughter. "Soon I'll be able to take care of you, Samantha. You won't have to look after her for too much longer, brother."

Philip slipped his arm round Samantha' shoulders, grinning. "Shame, that. Sammy and I get on so well."

She resisted the urge to push him away. Her father would not like knowing she was unhappy, but she could not burden him with herself. She would stay here and wait until he had enough money and came for her. She forced a smile, though her body was still slightly removed from that of her uncle, who seemed to have mostly recovered from the excesses of the night before.

Her father smiled, clueless, and ruffled her hair. "Well, I have to be going. I just dropped in to say hello to my two favorite people in the world."

Samantha escaped her uncle's grip and ran to hug her father once more. She buried her face into his shoulder, savoring her precious time with him.

As he left she watched from the front door, watching as the carriage lurched down the driveway. She watched as it disappeared in a cloud of dust into the village. She watched until it was no longer visible and she remembered to blink.

She walked up to her room and fell onto the bed. Sorrow encased her, though she did not cry. She couldn't remember the last time she actually cried. Eventually she slipped into a depressed sleep.

Hours later her eyes flickered open. She moaned sleepily and rose from her splayed position on the bed. She swung her legs over the side of the cot and walked across the room, opening the window. In the distance the great castle on Amity Mountain could be seen. She felt afraid just looking at it. Its gothic turrets and black stone, though perfectly suited to her grim demeanour and outlook, made it seem more like a prison than anything else.

But as she looked at it, suddenly something clicked in her mind, and fear fanned through her. Her father had said he was going north. North was the direction of the castle.

The direction of the mountain no one had set foot on in almost a century.

The direction of the woods people were known to disappear into, never to be found again.

Her eyes widened and her fingers gripped the windowsill worriedly. "Father – no!"

* * *

**please review! again, i totally appreciate constructive critisism and any ideas you got for me!**

**more reviews i get the faster the updates will come, so... :)**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	3. Attacks

**A/N - no i still don't own DP or Beauty and the Beast**

**

* * *

**

Two

**

* * *

**

A gentle snow had begun to fall only moments after Jeremy left the house of his brother, and had intensified over the past couple of hours he had been traveling. It surprised him greatly, as earlier on that day it had been beautiful and sunny. But he knew that the weather in this region tended to be wildly unpredictable.

He leant back in his carriage, closing his eyes. It was nice to see his daughter again. He missed her greatly during his long absences. And she did, as he had said, remind him so much of her mother, only with that inexplicable black hair, and the violet eyes that ran in the earlier generations of his family.

He missed his wife terribly. During the three years after she had passed on, he had begun to rely on drink, gambling, gaming, fighting, to keep him going. Even his young daughter had not been quite enough to ease his pain. He had begun to push her away.

But soon all his money was gone. His house was taken, and he and young Samantha were out on the streets. Hard weeks followed, and he had done the only thing he could for his daughter.

He had sent her to his brother.

In the years that followed, he had managed to make money for himself, scraping it up wherever he could. He still tended to gamble it away from time to time, an old habit that, as they say, was dying hard.

But it was going to change. He could feel it. Many of his friends had told him about the jobs to be had further north. Once he had made enough money to support them, he could go back to….

Suddenly the carriage rocked, then screeched hard to a halt. Jeremy was thrown forward forcefully and painfully into the front wall. He sat up, rubbing his forehead.

"What on Earth…?"

He opened the door of the carriage and hopped out. He walked round to the front and stood stock still, staring at the empty seat where his driver should have been. The horses were going wild, bucking and shrieking.

"D-David?" He stuttered fearfully. He looked around him desperately.

Suddenly something dropped onto his shoulder. He yelped and jerked himself away, stumbling forwards. He looked back in horror at the black form that floated just above the ground where he had been.

The creature was like a shadow, misty and translucent. It had the form of an enormous wolf, standing at almost eight feet. Its snarling lips were curled up to reveal razor sharp black teeth. Its glinting black eyes studied him.

The sky above had grown dark, and the snow began to fall more heavily than before.

The horrible animal suddenly howled. The howl sounded empty and it echoed unnaturally. Then the wolf was running at him. He screamed and turned, sprinting as fast as he could go in the opposite direction. His jellied legs suddenly gave beneath him, and he fell to the ground.

He turned onto his back just in time for him to watch the enormous beast leap towards him, its snarling even more feral than before.

* * *

"Where do you think you're going?" 

She was suddenly jerked back when something latched onto the hood of her cape and pulled her further from her destination – the door. She spilled onto the ground in a puddle of fabric and limbs.

She hurriedly stood up and turned to face her uncle, whose face was thunderous.

"My father – he's in trouble! I have to go help him." She turned once more for the door, but this time he grabbed her neck. Fear twisted in her stomach as she had the familiar feeling of having hands wrapped around her throat. Her own hands automatically went up to grab his wrists. She desperately tried to pry him off of her.

"Please," she choked. "Please let me go help him!"

He stared into her eyes, his own already bloodshot, a wine bottle in his right hand, his left still crushing her neck. A sadistic smile twisted his lips.

Suddenly a burst of resolve spread through her and she dropped her hands. She reached down and grabbed the bottle swinging, almost forgotten, from his fingers. She wrapped her fist around its neck and swung it upwards with as much force as she could muster.

The glass crashed against the side of his head. He yelled in pain and dropped her. She tumbled to the floor, but righted herself immediately, backing away from him, dropping the cracked bottle neck on the ground. She backed away, amazed at her bravado. Her hand reached for the door handle, pushing it down and swinging open the portal.

The storm outside had intensified greatly, the blizzard of snow inhibiting her vision greatly. Her foot had risen and was just about to step outside when something from behind her made her halt.

"Stop! Come here." His voice was venomous, but she did not turn.

"Not this time," she whispered, more to herself than to him, but he heard her anyway over the noise of the storm and screamed his fury as the door slammed behind her.

She ran to the stables, pulling her thick hood around her face to protect her from the raging winds and snow. She quickly threw a saddle onto the chestnut in the first stall, then swung onto his back and turned him out into the storm at a full gallop, crashing through the gate and taking off at full tilt towards Amity Mountain.

* * *

The beast landed a mere foot from his body, and he began to scoot back away from it across the forest floor, his heart thumping against his ribs wildly. His eyes were wide, his pupils fully dilated, unable to tear his gaze from the horrible monster advancing on him. 

Suddenly the animal stopped, and Jeremy seized his chance. He scrambled to his feet, turning round, and ran in the opposite direction. He could hear the animal leaping after him, snarling and howling.

Tears of fright were gathering in his eyes, but he was focusing too hard on pumping his arms to wipe them away. His vision blurred, and he thought he saw a dark shadow before him.

Suddenly his head smacked against something with a metallic clang, and he was tossed backwards a few feet. He raised himself, groaning in pain, and saw the great black gates looming before him. They barely registered in his mind as one word came to the fore.

_Sanctuary!_

He jumped up and heaved open one gate, painfully aware of the shadow creature closing in on him. He slipped through the tiny opening he had created in the heavy gate, and pushed it shut behind him. He had just slammed the bolt back into place when the animal arrived and started snapping through the bars at him. Its teeth fastened around his cloak and he ripped it off in alarm, letting it fall to the floor before the snarling beast.

He backed away from the gates in terror, but a pleasant feeling of security suddenly overcame him, his galloping heart just beginning to slow. He kept walking back until his suddenly fell over as the ground began an incline. He rose to his feet and turned around, his mouth dropping open.

Before him rose an enormous castle. The stone it was made out of was black, pitch black. Ivy and creepers snaked up the walls, smashing through some of the higher windows, wrapping around the looming turrets and towers. The front double doors were a dark wood, almost fifteen feet tall. Stained glass inhabited the windows, though it was made up of dull grays, blacks and whites instead of colors. High up, in the shortest tower, there was a massive chunk of the wall missing, and it had tumbled to the ground beside him amongst a shattering of bricks and mortar. Once-grand balconies reached out over the courtyard below, half of one mostly detached and hanging precariously off the wall, anchored only by the slope of the wall below it.

The building radiated a gothic, frightening glory, and it struck fear into him even as his old heart began to slow from the chase moments before. His head was thumping from his unpleasant encounter with the gate, and he began to weigh up the wisdom of entering this foreboding edifice against turning around and walking back to where the horses were and riding back to Amity Park in the storm.

A suddenly rattling snagged his attention and his head snapped to the gates. The animal was still there, snarling and pawing angrily at the black portcullis.

"Creepy castle it is then," he mumbled to himself, tearing open the grand door as fast as he could and creeping inside.

The door slammed shut far too loudly, and his stomach twisted as the booming noise echoed through the cavernous castle. He turned, his back against the door, and gazed in awe at the magnificent interior.

A grand staircase curled away from him in two different directions, the gold and mahogany banister having long lost its sheen, though the quality of the carving and shaping was evident. The steps were black marble, though, like the banister, they were dull and their gloss was gone. Elegant tapestries hung from the walls, though they were strangely black, as though they had been singed in a flash fire. One huge balcony encircled the room on the third floor, two stories up from him. What looked like a huge, overturned table lay opposite him on it, surrounded by scattered chairs.

He stepped forwards, moving cautiously through the castle.

"Hello?" he called, trepidation lacing his voice. He turned sideways and opened a door on his right, stepping into the beautiful room with awe. It, like the grand entrance hall, exuded beauty and wealth, but either misuse or disuse had taken its toll. He noticed that there were many darker patches on the walls, where paintings would have once hung, but they had been removed. A huge, towering chair sat in the middle of the room, before the hearth.

But what shocked him most about the room was the blazing fire alight in the fireplace.

He moved closer to it, the heat seeping through him wonderfully, drawing him still closer. He was soaking wet from the melted snow, and he wiped some of the water from his cheek. When his hand came away he was startled to find blood on his fingers. He touched his hand to where he smacked his head against the gate outside and winced as his fingers met the bleeding wound.

Suddenly he felt something brush his shoulder. He wheeled round to look into the pale blue eyes of a young girl, floating beside him.

He yelped in fear and backed away, falling into the great chair opposite the hearth.

"No, don't be afraid, I won't hurt you." The girl spoke softly, her voice tinged with concern. "You're hurt."

She reached a hand, in which she clutched a wet piece of cloth, to his forehead, but he drew back, fear making him tremble.

"Wh-what are you?" he asked, his voice shaking. His eyes traveled up and down her. She was pretty, with reddish blond hair and blue eye, wearing a simple blue gown with a sweetheart neckline. But she was floating, and she was translucent – or perhaps it was a trick of the light. Or maybe he had hit his head harder than he thought he had.

She shook her head gently, ignoring his question. "My name is Jasmine – Jazz. Please let me help you."

She reached forwards once more, and this time he managed not to pull back as she gently passed the cloth over his forehead and face, mopping away the blood. It took her a few minutes to gently bandage the wound, and in that time a small ottoman was pushed under his feet, and someone – or something, he corrected, looking at his young hostess – brought in a tray of tea and biscuits.

The 'girl' called Jazz eventually moved over to the fire, prodding a piece of wood with a poker, fanning the flames higher. Jeremy set down his tea.

"Alright, so what's going on here? Why are you here, and why are you see-through?"

She turned back to him almost guiltily. "I live here, and–"

She was suddenly cut off by a huge gust of wind that swept into the room and blew out the fire in one swoop. She gasped and ran to him, standing beside him almost protectively.

Jeremy cowered down in the enormous chair, sweat beading on his forehead, his breathing and heart rate rising as he sensed instinctively danger coming for him.

Behind him a shadow swept into the room and approached the chair.

Jazz stepped towards him. "Please, he was hurt and outside it is – he will die!" There was a small silence before she spoke again. "No! Please – no!"

Suddenly a shape materialized before him. It was shaky and shadowy and hard to make out clearly, though it looked humanoid, it was translucent, like Jazz. It reached for him and grabbed his shoulders, yanking him up so his face was only inches from its own.

Two burning green eyes became visible, boring into his own blue ones. Jeremy's whole body was shaking violently with fear. He could vaguely hear Jazz shouting in the background.

"Why are you here?" the insubstantial creature growled, its voice low and menacing. It was creepy, hearing the sound coming from no mouth.

Jeremy stuttered, the creature's grip tightening on his lapels. "I, I was being chased, and I hit my head, and it's a blizzard outside, so I just thought–"

"You just thought you'd intrude upon my home," the shadow finished in a snarl.

Jeremy's eyes widened. "N-no! Please! I, please!"

"Is that all you people do? Plead? Plead for mercy from the horrible Phantom?" His voice was dripping sarcasm and menace.

Jeremy was not sure which answer would give him more trouble, so he kept his terrified silence, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"You're afraid," the Phantom whispered dangerously. "Why?"

Jeremy's lip quivered, but he could not answer. The Phantom snarled and threw him back against the wall. He crashed to the ground and lay there, in agony.

"Why?!" his voice was loud enough to shake the chandelier above them. He stood over the quivering figure, who had drawn himself into a sitting position, his knees clutched against his chest. He pulled him up by the front of his shirt. Then he turned and stalked out of the door, dragging the limp man behind him. He pulled him along corridors, up staircases, and through doorways, ignoring his whimpers and yelps of pain. Eventually he tossed him against a wall and slammed the door behind him. Jeremy heard the sound of a key being turned in a lock and saw the bars on the door.

"Please," he whimpered to the retreating Phantom. The shadow whirled around, the green eyes appearing once more, swirling with anger.

"More pleading?" The silence was worse than his echoing voice. "You were not welcome here. You are now my prisoner." He was silent for a long moment before exiting the room through the closed door, leaving the old man whimpering quietly in his cell.

* * *

The snow was lashing fiercely at her face, blinding and hurting her. Her hood was drawn as far around her as it could be. Her hands were numb with cold, and were red and aching. She could tell the brown horse was tiring, and so was she. They had been riding hard for hours, but she would not allow the horse to stop or even slow. Each beat of her heart thumped her worry for her father against her chest. 

Lightning suddenly struck behind them, and her head whipped up at the crumpled form it illuminated in front of her.

"Father?" she cried, spurring the horse on further. As she neared the form though, she realized that it was just a carriage. Her father's carriage. The horses were gone, their moorings and reins broken. It looked as though they had snapped through them. What could have possibly scared them so much?

She leapt off the horse's back, leaving him panting there in the blizzard, flinging open the carriage door and looking inside. Her father was not there, and worry set further into her stomach.

Suddenly she heard a vicious snarl from behind her. She whipped around and her heart skipped a beat. A huge, shadowy wolf towered far above her, saliva dripping from its bared teeth. She quickly darted beneath it, ignoring her terror, and swung herself onto her horse's back.

She slapped his rump, delving her heels into his sides, and he careened up the mountain, his energy fueled by both his fear and her urgency. The beast behind them gave chase, and Samantha urged the horse to go faster, leaning right down against his neck.

They suddenly approached two gates that she had not been able to see before through the swirling snows. She could barely see five feet in front of her. She ripped one of the gates open from the chestnut's back and they cantered through. She jumped off the horse's back and ran to bolt the gate before the creature reached it. She turned and walked back, shaking with fear and adrenaline, to her horse, but trod on something on her way. She looked down and her heart caught in her throat.

She picked up her father's cloak in pain and looked at it, assuring herself that it was indeed her father's. She walked forwards, suddenly noticing a castle looming before her. She barely registered its horrific appearance as her need to find her father intensified and spurred her on.

She eased open one of the heavy doors, forgetting her horse completely, shutting it behind her and stepping forwards.

"Father?" she called. Her voice echoed through the castle, but that was all she heard. "Father!"

She walked forwards, trepidation growing in her step as she began to take in her domineering surroundings. The house had a gothic, wonderful beauty, and her inner soul was drawn to it somehow.

She suddenly heard a snarl behind her and she whipped around. Nothing was there. Fear crept into her, but she suppressed it and moved forward, turning left and walking down the corridor.

"Father?" She climbed a staircase and turned the corner. She could have sworn she heard something whisper something, and she followed the noise.

"This way…" the voice said quietly once more, and she followed the voice down several more corridors and up two more staircases. She pushed open a large oak door and looked around. It seemed to be some sort of prison.

"Samantha?"

She wheeled round at her father's voice, and suddenly saw a pale hand poking out from two iron bars.

"Father!" she sighed with relief and ran forwards to clasp his hand. She noticed a huge, gaping wound on his forehead, still pitifully releasing blood down his face. "Father, are you alright? What are you doing here? Why are you locked up? Oh, never mind – I have to get you out of here!"

"No, Samantha, listen to me, you have to get out of here, before–"

Suddenly she heard the snarl from the hall once more and was thrown forwards into the wall, a green light flashing behind her.

* * *

The black shape drifted upwards, through one of the higher windows, coming to a stop on the floor inside and dipping its shapeless head in respect to the dark figure in the chair, his back to the visitor. 

"Did you succeed?" The figure in the chair asked, not turning around.

"Yes, master. She is inside."

"How did you manage it?"

"Scared her." Amusement tinged the creature's voice as it once more assumed the form of an enormous wolf. It reverted back to its shadowy true form and its master's face matched its own smiling demeanor.

"Good. Well done."

"Now what?"

"Now? Now we wait."

The man in the chair suddenly stood and walked to the fireplace, hardly noticing its raw heat as he looked at the painting hanging above it. He ignored the other three figures and directed his tender speech to the woman standing with her hand on a young black-haired boy's shoulder, her own shoulder occupied by the hand of the towering man behind her.

"Soon, my love. Soon."

* * *

**whew, long chapter...bit of a cliffie...review for next chapter to come faster!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	4. Prisoner

**A/N - no, shockingly enough - i still don't own Danny Phantom or Beauty and the Beast**

**

* * *

**

_Three_

* * *

Samantha pulled back from the wall with which she had become very friendly a few seconds ago. She rubbed her jaw in pain and whipped around to yell at her attacker. Whoever it was was lurking in one of the deep shadows the advancing hour and lack of light in the prison caused. 

"What's your problem?" she shouted, wincing at the pain that stabbed through her jaw as she spoke. "What have you done to my father?"

"He was trespassing. As are you." A green glow suddenly sprang to life a few feet off the floor, and she guessed with some surprise that it was coming from his hand. Curiosity stabbed through her, but she was more afraid for her father.

"He's hurt! You have to let him go!"

"No."

She bared her teeth in frustration. She looked at her father, at the gaping wound on his head. He needed medical attention. And this beast didn't seem to be listening to reason. A desperate idea sprung into her mind, and made its way out of her lips before she had time to think about it.

"Take me instead."

The person was silent for a long time, in a startling contrast to her father who, within his cell, began protesting vehemently against her statement. She ignored him, and kept her eyes trained on the figure in the shadows.

"You, you aren't going to plead for him?"

She snorted, ignoring his ridiculous question. "What's your answer?"

Another silence, more profound this time, as her father realized that no-one was listening to him and silenced.

"You will give up your freedom in exchange for his? You will sever all ties with the outside world, for the rest of your life?"

Her resolve weakened. When he put it that way…it sounded so much more sinister, and she found herself doubting her decision. But then again, what would she be losing? An abusive uncle? A mundane fiancé? A practically nonexistent father?

But the rest of her life…. She raised her head, unaware of when it had dropped. She needed to know what she was getting herself into.

"Come into the light."

She watched with bated breath as the shadowy figure moved forwards almost reluctantly into the thin beam of light cast by the glowing moon. First a foot appeared, encased in a heavy black boot, followed by a long leg in black breeches. He – she was certain it was a he, judging from his voice and his large foot – moved forwards, his other leg coming into view. Her eyes traveled up his body. He rose to over six feet; and he wore black gloves, his black shirt covered by a floor length black cape that encased his shoulders and arms completely.

His hair was long, almost reaching his shoulder blades, and a brilliant white. His skin was deathly pale, almost transparent. His cheeks were gaunt, and smudges of black decorated the bottoms of his eyes.

But his eyes. They gripped her. Underneath black eyebrows they were green, vividly green, but seemed to be alive, the only part of him that appeared so. They looked as though they were glowing in his face, piercing her soul.

His age was impossible to determine. Even as she backed away unconsciously, she realized that although his face was young, his eyes held years of age, knowledge, power, hate. A hate that burned in the very depths of them, for her, for her father, for everything and anything around him. She had never seen anyone with so much loathing for anything. It scared her – and that fact frightened her further. After all those years spent living with Philip Manson, it took a lot to scare her.

She did not notice her retreat until her back connected with the wall behind her. She swallowed quickly, overcoming her fear, stood up straight, looking the living corpse right in the eyes, and spoke.

"You have my word."

"Done."

Her father's door swung open after he blasted the lock with some sort of green energy from his hand. Samantha was just about to run to his crumpled figure when two guards floated in and grabbed him under his armpits.

"Wait!" She cried, holding out her hand. "Wait!"

They ignored her, and dragged her father from the room, ignoring too his screams for her to take it back, not to do it, to leave him there. Her heart ached, and she suddenly fell to her knees, her chest heaving with emotion, wrapping her arms around her body, unaware of the door slamming before her, only hearing her father's cries as he was dragged away from her forvever through the castle.

* * *

"Take him to the village." 

The guards nodded at their master's command, taking the weeping man outside. The white-haired young man watched them take to the skies, the pathetically mewling old man between them.

He turned and walked back into the castle, his coat sweeping out behind him. He stormed through the castle towards his chambers, bumping unceremoniously into someone on his way.

His hand glowed green and he raised it to incinerate the idiot in his way, but dropped it again when he saw who it was.

"Tucker, get out of my way."

"Uh, okay," Tucker said, falling into step beside his friend, having to take an extra step every so often to keep up with the long stride of the seething man beside him. "Um, I was just wondering, that girl in the prison?" No answer. Tucker took this as a sign of encouragement and continued. "Sh-she's going to be here for a while. Maybe, maybe we could give her somewhere, a little more suitable to–"

He was cut off when the young man beside him halted and turned to him, his green eyes glowing. "She is my prisoner, and she will be treated as such." He turned and began walking again.

Tucker sighed and leapt after the retreating figure. "Danny, look, I wanted to be more subtle about this, but I guess subtle isn't my thing."

"You can say that again."

Tucker whirled around to glare at the young woman behind them, her hands imperiously attached to her hips. "Be quiet Valerie."

She ignored him and put her hand on shoulder of the tall youth beside him, and spoke in an accusatory tone. "Danny, what's this I hear about you keeping a beautiful young girl locked up in the prison?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "There is not beautiful girl in the prison. There is a trespasser who just assigned herself to a life in that prison of her own free will."

That seemed to stump Valerie for a second, and she stood, blinking at Tucker, as the pair watched their friend stalk off down the corridor. They flew after him and stood before him. Valerie crossed her arms and Tucker stepped forward to talk to him.

"Did you ever think that she might be the one to break the curse?"

"No." His voice was dangerously low. Both of the dark-skinned teens knew that that was a warning signal for them to stop and walk away. But not this time.

"Danny, don't be so pig-headed." Valerie snapped. "You _have_ thought about it and we all know it. But there is absolutely no chance whatsoever that that girl can do anything for us if you keep her locked up in that God-forsaken tower!"

He glared at the girl, before stepping once towards her. She only reached his nose, and he used his imposing height to his advantage. "What's the point? Besides, you didn't see the way she looked at me. Like everyone else does." He turned from the pair and walked away once more, having managed to keep the hurt from his tone.

Tucker flew forwards and put his hand on Danny's shoulder. "Please, man. At least let her out of the tower."

Danny stared at his friend's pleading face, and finally sighed crossly. He pushed past the dark-skinned boy and stalked back down the hallway. He wound through the castle until he was outside the prison door. He was loathe to go in, as he hated seeing people cry. But he pushed open the door nevertheless, and walked inside.

She leapt up as soon as he entered, and he was surprised to see no tears marring her face. Rage distorted her features however, and she was advancing on him as soon as he closed the door behind him. She walked up until she was mere inches from his chest, and looked right up from her tiny height at him, her eyes practically spitting fire.

"You monster!" She shouted furiously. "You didn't even let me say goodbye! I am never, _never _going to see him again – and you didn't even let me say goodbye!" Her hand rose to slap his face, but to her shock, it passed right through it, sending her off balance from the force she had put behind the action. She halted her stumble and turned surprised eyes to him, and something inside him smiled at the expression on her face. But that inner smile died with her next words.

"What are you?" She breathed in curious wonder.

His eyes narrowed once more, the green intensifying. "Come with me."

She peered at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I'm taking you to your room."

"But, I thought…"

"What – do you _want _to stay in the tower?"

She scowled at him. "No."

"Then follow me." With that he turned, his cloak whirling dramatically behind him. He heard her move after him after a little while, and follow him through the castle. He wanted to glance back at her, but for some reason he didn't want her to see him doing so. She kept her silence as they walked, but he could practically feel the antagonism radiating from her. She definitely had spirit.

"The castle is your home now." He spoke gruffly.

She sneered. "I thought it was my prison."

"It is. I hope you like it here." She fell silent, and somehow he knew she was glaring fireballs at his back. That strange smiling feeling crept back into his stomach, though he squelched it immediately.

"You can go anywhere you want, except the West Wing."

Her reply was instant. "What's in the West Wing?"

He wheeled around angrily. "If I wanted you to know why would I tell you not to go in there?"

She scowled at him. "Why would you think I would go there anyway? Now you've just made me curious!"

He ground his teeth. She was exasperating beyond reason. He turned back around and stalked down the corridor, fully aware of her smugly triumphant smile behind him, and hating it.

They reached the smallest guest room in the castle, and he pushed open the door. She walked past, ignoring him completely, then turned to glare at him once she was inside, her hands on her hips.

"When's dinner?"

That caught him off guard. He had forgotten that humans needed to eat. He scowled at her, knowing already that she would be trouble.

"You will eat in one hour."

"You won't eat with me?"

"I don't eat."

Her eyes narrowed at him. It was right then that he noticed the vivid purple color of her eyes. He stared at them in shock. He had _never _seen purple eyes before. He suddenly caught himself staring at her, and embarrassment flared through him. He had forgotten that uncomfortable feeling. He didn't like it. He scowled at her.

"One hour."

He slammed the door in her face, imagining the enraged expression that would be on it right then and once more, that strange smiling feeling crept into his chest. He pushed it away and stalked down the hall, ignoring the thump against the door behind him.

* * *

Sam blinked at the slammed door for a few seconds, then her lips turned down into a snarl. She lifted her foot and took off her shoe, hurling it as hard as she could at the closed door. It hit the middle panel with a satisfying thunk, but it did nothing to lighten her mood. 

"That, arrogant, selfish, egotistical, pig-headed _freak_!" She hissed to herself, walking briskly around the room. "How dare he treat me like a, like a, a…" In her current fuming state she couldn't come up with a good word, and snarled some more instead. She flopped backwards onto her bed and shut her eyes, her fists tightly clenched.

Briefly her chest constricted when she thought of her father. Was he okay? Did he get back to Amity Park alright? More importantly – would he be foolish enough to come back for her? While a part of her hoped above hope that he would, she was afraid that he, and anyone else he brought, would be incinerated by that monster who was now, what? Her jailer?

She rose into a sitting position on the end of the bed and looked around the room. It was modest, not ugly, but not wonderful. Judging by the exterior of the castle she guessed that the whole place was in serious disrepair.

Sleepiness pinched at her eyes. She blinked it back. She wasn't tired. She was fine.

A huge yawn escaped her. Oh, yes, she was. Her body, her mind, her heart, were all aching. She lay down on the bed, pushing off her boots and curling under the covers. She wrapped herself into a little ball.

_So this is where I'll spend the rest of my life_, she thought dismally, before slipping into an erratic sleep, her hand wrapped around the silver locket she hid under her collar.

* * *

"Hello?" _Knock, knock, knock_. "Hello?" 

Samantha groaned and buried her fist in her eye, peering blearily out from under the blue bed sheet at the door. Someone on the other side knocked once more and she sat up straight.

"Go away," she hissed, getting off the bed and backing away from the door, certain she knew who it was. _But_, she thought, w_ould he really knock? That doesn't seem his style_.

Whoever it was knocked again, and she found her nerve and walked over to open the door. She started slightly when she saw the floating girl before her. The girl was dark-skinned, with dark hair and eyes. She wore a brown dress with lacing up the front, and her brown shoes hovered about half a foot from the ground.

Samantha closed her mouth and glared at the newcomer.

"What?" She snapped.

The girl's eyes flashed with anger and she put her hands on her hips. "Dinner's ready. Come and get it – now."

Samantha narrowed her eyes at the intruder. "Is the freak down there?"

The girl's eyes widened in surprise and anger, then narrowed to match the lilac ones before her. "His name is D-Phantom.

"'Duh Phantom'?" Samantha mocked.

Valerie clenched her fingers, annoyed both at her slip and the girl. "_Phantom_. And yes, he is waiting for you."

Samantha turned up her nose. "Then I'm not going." She put her hand on the door frame and slammed it shut in the girl's face. She put her back against the door and sighed to let out some steam.

Suddenly her head came up. She murmured to herself. "Was she _floating_?"

"Yes, I was." Samantha's eyes snapped up to stare at those of the girl floating before her. She turned and looked at the closed door, against which she had been leaning, then at the girl inside her room, then at the door, and the girl again.

She spluttered unintelligibly for a few seconds before the girl interrupted. "If you are quite finished, dinner is served – and you _are_ going."

Samantha clamped her teeth together. "If you think I am going to do _anything _that freak tells me to do, I've got news for you. I don't listen to anyone but me, anymore."

Valerie's eyebrows came up slightly at the last word. There was an almost unnoticable pause before the girl said it. She wondered what that pause meant. Her hands went once more to her hips as she glared at the stubborn girl in front of her. "Think again. You're gonna be here a while, so you'd better stay on Phantom's good side."

"Or what? He'll punish me? What could be worse punishment than being forced to spend any time in his company? He'll kill me? So what? – I have no life anymore anyway."

Valerie blinked at the girl's pessimistic words, before her dark eyebrows came together. "Fine," she snapped. "Fine." She floated to the side of the girl and phased out of her room, leaving her open-mouthed in front of the still safely closed door.

Valerie dropped through several floors until she came to a stop in the dining hall. The room hadn't been used in many years, but the cleaning staff, elated to have something to do, finally, had gone all out in making it presentable.

At the end of the huge table, sitting in front of an empty place setting, was her friend come master. She floated to his side.

"Well, is she coming or what?" He snapped.

Valerie shook her head. "She isn't coming."

He was speechless for a moment, though he didn't let his shock show on his stoic face. "What?"

"She. Won't. Come. Down."

His teeth gritted together behind his lips. Not only was he saddled with an obnoxious teenage girl until he died – which, granted, wasn't a prospect too far away, but he couldn't think about that right now – but she was going to go out of her way to be a pain. Perfect. That's just what he needed.

He briefly contemplated just going up to his room and ignoring her until that last petal fell and he would be free, in a sense, but he had a niggling feeling that if he let this go that she would just get worse. It was like training a dog. You couldn't let anything go or they would start taking liberties.

Plus there were those haunting lilac eyes. One eyebrow rose at his ironic choice of words, but it was an apt description.

He rose from his place, drifting into the air and phasing through several floors, halting at the door to her room, Valerie close behind him. He stopped just outside her door, debating the wisdom of just phasing inside. Why not? – It's not like she could hurt him.

He stepped through her bedroom wall and looked around the room. He couldn't see her, and his whole body clenched. _Where is she?_

Suddenly he heard a feminine grunt and looked to his right in time to see a lamp hurtling towards his head. He simply stayed still and the lamp went right through him. It was followed by a jewellery box, a pillow, a vase, and finally a shoe. He watched the woman's shoe fall to the ground, then looked up at the fuming girl beside him, her chest heaving with anger and exertion.

A tiny grin crept into the corner of his mouth, but he turned it back down and walked up to her. He grabbed her by the arms and lifted her off the ground. He was surprised to find that she didn't squirm, but froze and stared at him.

Or glared at him.

"Why is it that I can't hurt you, but you can still hurt me?" She hissed through her teeth.

His eyes widened very slightly and he looked almost guiltily at his hands. He hadn't thought he was holding her that tightly. He let her fall to the ground, her shoeless feet hitting it silently.

"Why didn't you come to dinner?"

She turned up her nose at him. "I'm your prisoner – not your slave."

His eyes glowed acid green as he fought to control his temper. "Let me make this clear right now, girl. If you don't eat with me," he bent down to her eye level. "You don't eat at all."

She glared at him, her eyes still snapping her refusal. His face slackened completely and he nodded slightly. He turned, but stopped when she threw a comment at his departing back.

"Samantha."

"What?"

"That's my name. Not 'girl'."

He nodded. "Sam."

"Samantha!" She spat.

"Fine. Sam." He stepped backwards and phased out of the room. He turned to Valerie, who had been waiting outside.

"Guard the door. Make sure she doesn't come out."

She nodded at him, though she did not look pleased with his order, and he walked away down the corridor, silently seething, though that internal grin was back, and this time he couldn't make it go away.

* * *

The moon and stars had long since appeared, glowing bravely in the late night, and the sky over the mountains was as black as death. The forest surrounding the mountain and the castle in its side was completely still, and the inhabitants of the great castle had all been silent for quite some time.

But Samantha was wide awake. She had stopped fuming quite a while ago, and was now suffering from a serious case of righteous indignation. She sat on the floor in the center of her newly trashed room, looking unseeingly at the various shattered pieces of furniture and ornaments, the torn curtains, the mussed bed, and the wardrobe door lying against the opposite wall.

Her knees were pulled up, her arms looped around them. Her right hand still gripped the silver locket almost desperately, and her face was vacant.

_"Sammy! I'm home!" _

_A small black blur sped down the stairs and flung itself into the waiting arms of the man who had just come through the doorway. _

_"Father!" She squealed into his lapels. He laughed and eventually pushed her back gently. _

_"Sammy, I have a present for you. I found it in your mother's jewellery box." _

_"It's mommy's?" _

_"It was. Here," he delved into his pocket, and his fist finally closed around something. "Alright, Sammy, close your eyes!" _

_He waved his hand in front of her face and then, satisfied the purple eyes were firmly shut, pulled his hand from his pocket. "Hold out your hands." He then dropped the object into her tiny, outstretched palms. "Alright, now, open!" _

_The violet eyes flashed open and gazed down at the silver necklace in her hands. She squeaked happily and grabbed it by the clasp, lifting her hand and letting it dangle before her. She gently put her other hand against the pendant to stop its spinning and to have a better look. _

_"It's a locket!" _

_"Yes, it is. But I'm afraid I can't get it open." _

_Her clumsy fingers went immediately to the clasp on the silver pendant, fumbling with it for a little while before also admitting defeat. _

_"Thank you, Father." she sighed happily, flinging her free arm around his shoulders, as he squatted before her. _

_He helped her fasten it around her neck, and her little fingers stroked it adoringly in front of the mirror. "I shall never take it off." _

_"Never?" _

_"Never." _

_He smiled at her, but she was not even looking at him. She traced her miniature index finger up the stem, around the outside, and delicately into the fragile swirls of the inner petals. _

_The locket was shaped like a rose. _

"Excuse me? Miss Sam?"

"Samantha!" She snappily corrected, completely automatically, standing up crossly and dropping the necklace back underneath her collar.

"Sorry. Miss Samantha."

"What?" she barked, fully intending to be as annoying as possible. Maybe then he would become unable to stand her and let her go.

The person on the other side of the door was silent. Samantha cocked her head and strode towards it. She flung open the portal and glared at the girl floating there.

"What do you want?"

The girl had turned, as if to leave, but when the door was so violently opened she whipped back around in surprise. She extended a hand.

"Hello, Miss Samantha. My name is Jazz. Welcome to Fenton Castle."

Samantha stared incredulously at the hand. "Are you kidding?"

"Um, no." The girl seemed taken aback.

Samantha's hands went to her hips as she studied the floating girl. She appeared to be a little older than herself, with translucent hair that may once have been vibrant red. A soft blue headband was in her hair, matching her simple blue dress. Like the other girl from before, her feet hovered some inches off the ground.

"You do know I'm a prisoner here, right?" She asked venomously.

The girl called Jazz dropped her hand, and looked almost ashamed. "Sorry about that. My brother can be a bit, well, antisocial, I suppose. You mustn't blame him – he's had a hard life."

Samantha snorted indelicately. "And mine's been all sunshine and joy? You know nothing about me _Jazz_." She said the girl's name derisively, and the redhead flinched.

"No, you're right." She seemed to suddenly notice the state of Samantha's room and she sighed unhappily. "I see you got him angry."

The black-haired girl peered over her shoulder into her demolished bedroom, realizing with a start that it was almost morning already, and shrugged, turning back to the floating girl in the corridor. "No, that was me."

Jazz's translucent blue eyes flew open. "Really?" She floated past Samantha into the offending room and looked around in shock.

Samantha shivered in the doorway. The person, ghost, whatever she was, had touched her arm gently when she brushed past her. Shivers began coursing through her body. She had felt the same thing when the Phantom touched her, only his touch had been more painful, as though all the anger and hurt in him shot into her veins and poisoned her slowly. When he had held onto her arms earlier, the longer the time he spent touching her, the more pain it cost her. Her fingers and toes still ached slightly from the exposure. Jazz's touch was a little like having ice water thrown on her head. Phantom's was like being thrown into a blast furnace.

Jazz picked up a corner of the torn curtains lying on the floor. "Wow. Remind me to stay on your good side."

Samantha recovered from the unexpected sensation and moved back into the room, shutting the door behind her. "What are you doing here?"

"I just came to see you."

The violet eyes narrowed slightly. "Wait, did you say Phantom was your brother?"

Jazz nodded. "I'd love to say he isn't usually like this, but…." She trailed off and began to right the room as best she could, picking up objects and putting them back where they belonged. "He didn't use to be. A long time ago."

"How long?"

"Oh, quite a long time."

Samantha's eyes formed little purple slits. She knew the girl was lying to her, skipping around the answer, but she didn't know why. This whole place was weird, and it was giving her the creeps.

Jazz bent down and picked up some pieces of a shattered vase. "You might try to be nice to him, since you'll be here for a while."

"You mean until I die?"

"Perhaps." Jazz said ambiguously. Samantha wasn't sure but she thought she detected remorse in her voice. What on Earth did she mean by that?

"What do you mean?"

Jazz just sighed, dropping the china in the bin. Samantha soon realised she wasn't going to get an answer.

"Why should I be nice to him? He's horrible to me."

"Maybe if you're nice, he'll be nice."

Samantha snorted.

"You could try?"

"I don't want to try!" Sam shouted, her control snapping.

* * *

Danny sat alone in his black room. The remains of the thick curtains were all drawn, letting none of the pre-dawn light into the tower. He was in the middle of the practically shredded room, staring into nothingness.

Suddenly he lifted his hands in front of him. They began to glow a very pale green, almost white, and the glow finally detached itself from them. It swirled into the air in front of him, moving and twisting and becoming more substantial. The gentle mist finally cleared and a small, glimmering crystal floated in the space between his fingers.

He grabbed it in his right hand and let it rest on his palm. His lips barely moved as he spoke.

"Show me Sam."

A glow appeared in the center of the crystal, and a beam of light shot out of the top a few inches into the air. It fanned out and became an image. It showed Sam standing in her room, facing Jazz.

He narrowed his eyes at his sister. Why was she there?

He finally picked up their words.

_"You mean until I die?" _

_"Perhaps." _

_"What do you mean? Why should I be nice to him? He's horrible to me." _

_"Maybe if you're nice, he'll be nice. You could try?" _

_"I don't want to try! I don't want anything to do with that **freak**!" _

Danny's chest tightened painfully and he let the image fade. He crushed the crystal in his palm and it turned back into energy, seeping back into his body.

He stood and walked over to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains to let the fading moonlight stream in. It was a full moon. He phased through the double glass doors out onto the balcony. The balcony was wide and sweeping, and there was a great distance between its bottom and the sloped roof of the next tower down. He walked into the center of it and looked out over the forest, feeling his heart thump painfully once every few minutes. He didn't bother breathing anymore. He walked right up to the edge of the balcony. He didn't fly unless he needed to. It required too much concentration.

It was a full moon. He stared up at it, his expression very slowly morphing into one of hatred. If Jazz's prediction that the curse would endure one hundred years was correct, then they had four months left, beginning today.

His eyes pressed closed. They flashed open again, uselessness and resignation glowing within them. He turned to look back into the darkened room.

He was just in time to see a petal fall from the wilted black rose floating there in the center of the room.

* * *

**wow, that was a long chapter.**

**review please! feel free to tell me anything you want to see, anything you definately don't, what you think of it so far etc. until next time!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	5. Run

**A/N - i do not own Danny Phantom or any related characters, nor do i own Beauty and the Beast.**

**

* * *

**

_**Four**_

**

* * *

**

Her slender fingers curled around the doorframe. They were followed by the ones on her other hand. The door slipped open slightly, and a small nose poked around it. The rest of her face followed, and her purple eyes scanned the corridor surreptitiously.

Seeing no-one, she stepped out of the room and shut the door quietly behind her. She walked quickly down the corridor, seeing the spiraling staircase before her. She opted not to take that one in case she was to be spotted. She noticed a door in the wall to her left and opened it cautiously. She realized it was a servant's passage, and sighed happily at her good fortune. She descended the stairs and popped out, with overwhelming relief, in what was most definitely the kitchen. Just the thought of the word made her hollow stomach growl in annoyance.

"Alright, alright," she muttered. "I'm working on it."

She opened a cupboard, but found only cups. The next few yielded plates, bowls, platters, glasses and mugs, but no food. She grabbed a cup, intending to go get some water, but fumed out loud.

"What, do these people not eat?" She froze and pursed her lips. "Wait a minute."

The cup slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. By some miracle it did not shatter, but the smacking noise it made was loud enough to make Samantha cringe.

"Hello?"

"Dammit." She breathed quietly, looking around her desperately for somewhere to hide.

"Is someone there?"

She dove under the table in a burst of hopefulness. She saw the door open, and some booted feet walk into the room. To her relief, they were not black, but brown. The person stalked right into the middle of the room, then stopped in front of the cup. Then he bent down.

Sam stifled a gasp as the dark-skinned young man came down to her level and picked up the cup. Suddenly he turned and looked her in the eyes.

"Ah!" He yelped, skidding back against the cupboards.

Her eyebrows lifted. Although he had the same glowing, translucent look Danny, Jazz and that other girl had had, he was much less cool. They at least _acted _like ghosts – for that was what she was pretty sure they were. But this one acted like he was afraid of her.

She crawled out from under the table, deciding that since she was busted, she might as well. She stood over him, her hands on her hips.

"Hi."

He swallowed and scrambled up onto his feet. He was only a little taller than her, though considerably more ungainly, and he was standing on the ground instead of hovering – something she was relieved to see.

"I'm Tucker. Nice to meet you, Sam."

She gritted her teeth. Had that pest told the _whole_ castle she was called Sam?

"It's Samantha."

"Oh, but, D-uh, Phantom, said…"

"Well Duh Phantom is an idiot. And you can tell him I said so."

He swallowed and fiddled with his fingers. "Um, why are you here?"

"I'm hungry. Where's your food? Or do ghosts not need to eat?"

"No, we don't really, but…hang on. No! I mean, we aren't ghosts!"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Please. So – food?"

He gulped. "Um, Phantom told us you weren't supposed to–"

"Oh, please, Tucker."

The two people in the room snapped their heads to the new entry. Samantha recognized her as the girl who had commanded her to come down to dinner last night. That had been almost a whole day ago, her stomach reminded her, growling once more at her.

"She can't _not_ eat the _whole_ time she's here. Don't be so foolish." She turned to Samantha. "Come on, your dinner is on the table. It's cold, really cold, but it's better than nothing."

Samantha followed the girl through some double doors and into an enormous dining room. The table, she guessed, must have seated over one hundred people. It was the biggest piece of furniture she had ever seen. At one end were two place settings, one with food on it, and one without.

She slid into the seat with food before it and ate heartily. It was some sort of meat, which she ignored, and a plentiful supply of vegetables that were almost icy cold from the frigid temperature of the castle, but to her famished body they were wonderful.

She finished and sat back happily in her chair. She looked at Tucker and the girl, who had been standing opposite her, watching her eat.

"So, what's there to do around here?"

The two ghosts looked at each other, then turned back to her. "Not much."

She frowned at them. "So, what do you do all day?"

They suddenly both blushed furiously. Samantha's eyebrow lifted a few seconds later as she understood exactly what the pair did with their time.

"So, there's nothing to do here but to make out?"

The girl snapped angrily at her. "I don't think you're in any position to be rude, Sam."

"Samantha." She spat through gritted teeth. This was really starting to annoy her. "What's your name again?"

"Valerie."

Samantha willed herself to calm down. She was going to be here a long time, and some allies would be a good idea. She nodded. "That's nice."

The two girls stared at each other, silently reaching some sort of feminine truce Tucker didn't understand. He cleared his throat awkwardly and held up a hand.

"We could, give you a tour. You know, cause you're gonna be here a while and you might wanna know how to get around, in case, uh, I don't know. Yeah."

Samantha nodded after considering the idea. "Alright. I don't think I can take much more of being in that bedroom all by myself. Give me the grand tour."

* * *

The castle certainly was grand. Samantha guessed that at one time it would have been magnificent. Tapestries hung on most walls, expensive candelabras and chandeliers that she was certain were solid gold were everywhere, and most floors were even carpeted, much to her surprise. 

Tucker and Valerie showed her everything. They showed her bedrooms, lounges, drawing rooms. They told her all about the grand dining room, a humungous library, the priceless artwork, the ancient tapestries, and the glorious ballroom. Tucker took her all over the castle in servant's passages that could cut distances around the castle in half.

Valerie described the gilding and gold leaf on the main staircase to her. She evidently knew a lot about it. Samantha could not help but to trace her fingers along the silky smooth mahogany rail, imagining what it would have been like to live in this castle in its glory days, and to descend this staircase in expensive clothes, be grand and rich.

Wealth was never something she craved, but always something she regarded with some reverence. All her problems in life could be traced back to money – or the lack thereof. Richness must be a blessing.

She fingered her cheap, homespun grey dress dejectedly, feeling out of place amidst all the grandeur. Even Tucker and Valerie's ghostly servant's clothes were of finer quality than hers. How depressing.

The trio were walking down what Tucker informed her to be the west hallway. A tattered red carpet ran down the center of it, providing padding for her feet, and sometimes Tucker and Valerie's. She soon voiced a question that had been nagging at her for a while.

"Why do you guys sometimes walk, and sometimes float?"

"It takes more concentration to float – you know, to lift off the ground. It's easier to walk, though it's less tiring to fly. We can do either, I guess – depends on how we feel."

Samantha nodded in understanding at Valerie's explanation.

"Does Phantom ever float?"

"Sometimes."

"Why is he always so grumpy?"

Valerie didn't answer right away, looking uncomfortable. Tucker jumped in, pointing out a vase sitting on a carved wood table.

"That vase dates to the early fourteenth century – one of a kind. You see that purple color? The pigment needed for that color is only found in one place in the whole world."

"Pretty." She acknowledged half-heartedly. "So? Valerie?"

But once more Tucker butted in. "And that tapestry over there? It was woven by thirty-four blind women. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Why are you avoiding my–"

"And that door leads to the Coral Room, and that one to the Emerald drawing room, and that staircase leads to the West Wing, and if you turn right here you reach the–"

Samantha's eyes widened and she stopped to look at the sharply winding staircase Tucker had pointed out. "So _that's_ the West Wing."

Tucker, if it was possible, turned even paler than he usually was. His eyes were wide and he started panting, as Valerie fixed the most venomous glare ever given by anyone other than Samantha on him.

"Nice going," she hissed.

The pair suddenly became aware of their guest walking away from them towards the forbidden stairs. They both flew forwards and landed in front of her on the steps.

"It isn't very interesting up there," Tucker told her, sounding incredibly flustered.

"Yeah, the gallery is _much_ more interesting," Valerie added.

"I want to know why he didn't want me to go up there." Samantha said bluntly, and walked past them. But Valerie grabbed her arm.

"Seriously, Sam, don't go there."

Samantha forgot to correct her, and swiped at her arm instead. But, like that time she had tried to slap Phantom, her hand just passed right through the girl. Yet Valerie still had a hold on her arm.

Samantha's mind was churning. If she couldn't touch them but they could touch her, she had to find some other way to get them to let her go.

"Wouldn't you rather go see…go see, um, the gardens?" Tucker asked desperately.

Samantha froze, without having to pretend. "You have gardens?"

Tucker sighed in immense relief. "Yes! Huge gardens! Flowers of every kind you can imagine! And trees, and lawns, and borders and rockeries, and benches and fountains!"

Samantha gave him her most pleased and excited smile. "Show me!"

Valerie let her go, and the three of them walked back down the staircase. Tucker still blabbered excitedly, and Valerie had given him a congratulatory squeeze on the arm when she thought Samantha wasn't looking, and not let go.

"Willows, and birches, and blossoms, and a lake, and a maze! A huge maze! You could be lost in that maze for…."

The pair walked off arm in arm down the corridor, and neither of them noticed Samantha turning and slipping surreptitiously back down the hallway to the stairs. She ran up them nimbly, flying upwards as fast as she could, her unshod feet silent on the carpeted steps. As she climbed, she passed several doors, knowing innately that they were not what she was looking for. The stairway became narrower and narrower, and she soon realized that she was climbing up one of the taller turrets of the ancient castle.

She finally reached a tall ironwood door with a rustic iron handle. The handle was dusty, as if it hadn't been touched in years. She realized that Phantom probably just phased through the door, instead of opening it like a normal person. She wrapped her pale hand around the large handle and pulled. The door protested vehemently, but she managed to pry it open enough to slip sideways into the room.

The heavy curtains, in tatters, were hanging as best they could across the large window opposite her, blanketing the room in darkness. Overturned furniture was everywhere. Burn and scorch marks decorated the walls somberly, and the carpet was incinerated in the center of the chamber, growing a little fuller towards the walls. Wallpaper hung in strips everywhere, and she could just make out darkened patches where paintings might have once hung. She wondered briefly why these paintings would have been taken down when most of the others in the castle were still there.

But as she walked forwards into the enormous room, something in the center of it became more and more evident in the darkness. As she neared it, her eyes widened.

It was a rose. A black rose, white staining the tips of the petals. It was turning by itself in midair, a faint white glow emanating from it. It looked very sorry for itself, wilted and drooping. Quite a few of its petals were gone, sitting on the floor below. It looked a step away from death.

She pulled her necklace from its place under her dress, and was surprised to see it glowing faintly. It looked just like the black rose would have when it was not withering. She looked back up at the gothic rose hovering before her, and was inexplicably drawn to it. She took another step forward, her right hand outstretched, her left clutched tightly around her locket.

Suddenly two acidic green eyes formed in the darkness behind the rose. They glittered murderously and Samantha froze. She was suddenly thrown backwards from the flower by a green blast hitting her chest. She smacked into the wall and fell to the ground.

She moaned in agony and stood up. Phantom was standing right in front of her. He stepped forwards so his chest was touching hers, pushing her back into the wall, his hands braced on either side of her head.

All his fury and hate was slicing into her body from the touch, crippling her, weakening her. Her head began to spin.

"I told you not to come here," he snarled venomously.

Her head was lolling, his violent emotions coursing through her limbs and chest, starting to make her convulse in pain.

"I ordered you _not _to _come _here!" His voice rose dangerously loud. He pulled back one arm, his palm glowing with that strange green energy she had glimpsed in the dungeon.

His hand suddenly fastened around her neck and he lifted her off the ground. The feelings the connection sent searing into her body burned her from the inside, and she could do nothing. She just let herself be strangled.

He finally dropped her, and when she dared a glimpse at his face, he had the strangest expression. It seemed a mixture of shock, horror, confusion, but most of all, anger. His eyes narrowed at her, and he pulled back from her shaking body.

The inflow of his violent emotions stopped, leaving a searing residual pain slicing through her torso. She collapsed to the ground, coughing fiercely and clutching her abused throat. His hand came to her neck once more, but this time it curled around her collar and pulled her onto her feet. His face came close to hers, and she tried to pull back so his skin didn't touch hers again, but he didn't let her.

"Get." His voice was dangerously, murderously low. "Out."

He released her, and she crumpled to the floor once more.

"Get out!"

She pulled herself to her feet, ignoring the screaming protests from her aching body.

"Get out!"

His hands suddenly flashed green again. Samantha knew that she had to leave – right now. She forced her broken body towards the door.

"Get out!"

A green blast connected with the door just to her right as she struggled to pull it open. Her heart was pounding, and the strong adrenaline rush was beginning to block out her pain.

"Get OUT!"

She slipped around the door frame and ran back down the stairs. Her momentum increased her speed until her feet were only hitting every tenth step or so. As the staircase widened, she veered to the left, hardly noticing Tucker and Valerie standing there, calling to her.

"Sam!"

Valerie's voice was a distant echo in her mind. She had to get out. She couldn't stay here anymore, promise or no promise. She ran through the castle, passing servants she had been introduced to on the tour, but ignoring them.

She threw open the side kitchen door and ran to the stables. She grabbed a horse, any horse, flung her body onto it, and pushed it towards the wrought-iron gate in the castle wall. She unlatched the gate and let the horse fly through, not bothering to close the portal behind her.

The pair galloped down the mountainside. The adrenaline coursing through Samantha's veins began to wane, and the agony inside her returned. She delved her fingers into the horse's black mane, struggling to control the burning pain in her body.

Suddenly the horse stopped with a terrified whinny, its huge hooves throwing up snow as it skidded to a halt. Samantha had not expected it, and she was thrown violently forwards over the horse's neck. She landed in a deep snowdrift. The snow was still falling, through much slower than the blizzard of the day before. She moaned and picked her head up.

Looming over her was the black shadow wolf that had chased her before up the mountain. Its red eyes glittered terribly.

Terror began to set into her head, but she willed it away. She would be fine. All she had to do was get back on the horse.

She turned around. The black stallion was galloping in the opposite direction back up to the castle. Her heart dropped watching it, as the creature behind her tossed back its head and let out an otherworldly howl. Shivers shot down her spine.

It began to advance on her. She didn't know what to do. It was blocking her way to Amity Park, and she could not go back to the castle. Her head was throbbing. The icy snow was beginning to numb her fingers and exposed toes, her limbs aching. She tried to force herself to her feet, but collapsed back into the snowdrift, too tired, and in too much pain to fight.

The creature's face was right next to hers, its glinting red eyes mocking her. She shut her eyes in expectation of her end.

But suddenly the creature howled in pain. Samantha's eyes flashed open and she saw the creature several feet away, just rising from its back. Confusion set into her mind. The creature howled again, furiously, and charged straight for her once more. She was too weak to do much more than just scramble backwards across the dirt and snow.

Just then, a large black figure dropped to the ground right in front of her, blocking off the creature's route. Samantha was not sure whether she was relieved or terrified to see him again.

Phantom lifted both hands and shot another green blast at the advancing wolf. He hit with deadly accuracy and sent the creature reeling backwards far down the path.

Samantha's breaths were coming deep and fast. The pain coursing through her seemed to be waning, though her legs and arms were rapidly growing numb from cold. She jerked herself to her feet, not able to take her eyes off the ghost in front of her.

His back was still turned, and she wondered why he had not acknowledged her. Her stomach wrenched. Did she have to thank him now? She dreaded to think.

Suddenly she sensed something moving behind her. She whipped around just in time to see the shadow wolf swipe one enormous, sharply clawed paw at her face. She shut her eyes once more, not wanting to look.

But the pain she had been anticipating didn't come. She cracked open an eye and saw Phantom standing before her again, protecting her.

Wait. Protecting her? That monster? Was she dreaming? Was she already dead? Had that thing killed her without her realizing it? She was so cold, she didn't know if she would have been able to notice the transition.

Phantom's hands glowed green and he fired a volley of blasts on the creature, driving it back, back towards the trees away from her. He gave out a bright, forceful blast which caused it to scream in pain.

It snapped at him with its huge teeth, though Samantha could not tell from that distance whether or not it got him. But she did see one final parting explosion of green light and the huge creature lifting up into the sky and flying – yes, flying – away into the night sky.

She was frozen in place for an eternity. Neither she nor Phantom moved. Her breaths were too loud. The woods were completely silent. Phantom was not breathing, but she didn't think he ever did. The snow dropped mournfully between them. The wind seemed to be blowing it in his direction, like an invitation for her to follow.

She picked her foot up to take a step towards him, but set it back down again in indecision. She should just go back to Amity Park. She was free. She had escaped. She should just go. She should just leave him.

Suddenly Phantom's legs crumpled beneath him. His tall frame collapsed soundlessly to the snow, and he laid there, an unmoving black mar in the fresh white drifts.

Samantha watched him fall, her heart wrenching her two different ways. Her feet suddenly decided for her. They picked her up and moved her quickly…

Towards Phantom.

She knelt beside him and rolled him onto his back. His clothing was torn, and the pale skin showing below was covered in some strange sort of thick green liquid. It only took her a few minutes to realize that it was his kind of blood. And he was losing more and more by the second.

Could ghosts die? As she sat there next to him in minor shock, staring at the wounds, she wondered exactly what would happen to him if he lost much more of his green blood. She decided that it could not be good.

She slipped her arms underneath his unconscious body, one under his back and the other under his knees, clasping her hands together in front of her. She picked him up, struggling greatly under his weight. She staggered forwards a few steps and almost collapsed. For a dead person, he certainly was heavy.

If he was a ghost, shouldn't he weigh nothing at all? She looked at his slightly transparent body cradled awkwardly in her arms in confusion.

"Why do you have to be so weird?" She asked crossly.

She stared down at his face as she moved painfully back up the path. He looked so different in repose. All the harsh lines disappeared from his face, all the hurt, anger, distrust. Although the dark circles were still there under his eyes, they didn't seem so pronounced. His cheeks were still gaunt, but without his habitual scowl they didn't make him look so creepy.

His white hair had slipped away from his features, exposing them further to her view. She could now see both eyes properly. They were thickly fringed with black eyelashes that were hard to see when his eyes were open because they, well, glowed.

And he looked so…young. She guessed that when he died he could not have been much more that seventeen. She wondered how it had happened. And why he was still in the castle. And why all the servants, and his sister, were ghosts too.

Alone with her musings, Samantha continued on, the dark form of the girl and the ghost moving slowly up the mountain amidst the intensifying snowfall.

* * *

Samantha staggered, exhausted, back into the castle and dropped to her knees right there in the hallway. Her breathing was ragged, and she let herself cough a few times, her throat rasping painfully. 

Tucker, Valerie, Jazz, and several other servants awaited them there. The moment she stumbled in they slammed the door and crowded around their master and his prisoner in shock.

Samantha looked up at a very worried-looking Jazz.

"Jazz, go get some bandages. You have to have something like that in this place. I also need a bowl of hot water and a cloth, Valerie, and, Tucker, some dry clothes for Mr. Hero here."

The three scuttled off, and, with the help of one of the servants she recalled to be called Kwan, Phantom was relocated to the floor of the Emerald drawing room, which was thickly carpeted, and where a hot fire was lit.

Kwan stepped backwards towards the door after the bossy girl had waved him away. Jazz accidentally bumped into him on her hurried way in.

"Sorry, Kwan."

"That's alright, milady. Can I help?"

Jazz looked to where Phantom lay on the ground, Samantha crouched protectively over him, and smiled wisely.

"No, maybe we should just leave them alone."

Jazz, Tucker and Valerie deposited their loads on the floor by the shivering pair, then backed subtly out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Samantha put a red-cold hand on Phantom's sodden cape and sighed crossly. She unfastened it at his throat and pulled it away from his body. Next went the soaking and green-blood stained shirt. She used the cloth and water to gently wash away as much blood from his chest as she could. His skin was cold and uncomfortable to her touch, but at least it did not hurt her to touch him.

Wait. To touch him?

She shook her head in confusion and pulled him up against her body, wrapping the bandages tightly around his deep injuries. A few minutes later she tied off the knot at the end, satisfied with her handiwork.

Suddenly a hand gripped the top of her arm painfully. His torso phased through her grip and he crashed to the floor with a groan. She yelped and slapped at the hand hurting her arm, sending his emotions into her. This time they were shock, panic, and, almost overwhelmingly – pain. But her hand, of course, merely passed right through his. Phantom's eyes were open and glowing angrily.

"What are you doing?" he snarled.

"Making sure you don't bleed to death! You ungrateful little ass!" she hissed back, gritting her teeth against the coursing agony he was giving her. "Will you _please_ let go of my arm?"

He looked at his hand digging into the skin of her upper arm and released her. She held back a sigh of relief when the numbing inflow of emotions halted. She sat up on her heels and looked down at him. He was inspecting his bandages.

His viridian eyes turned up to her. "Are they tight enough?"

She was just too cold and too exhausted to bother being annoying. Even her head was beginning to throb. She sighed. "I think so." She reached out a hand to pull gently on the knot she had tied at his side, but her fingers passed through him again.

But it was different this time from before. Until now, when she had tried to touch him and had not been able to, her hand had gone through him without there being any indication of him existing at all. It was like touching light, or air.

But now when her fingers touched him they tingled faintly, like when it was raining gently and you just felt it as tiny tickles on your skin. She withdrew her fingers quickly, slightly embarrassed.

She looked at him, and his eyes were boring right into her. Like he was trying to read her thoughts. She fixed a stare of her own on him and they just looked at each other until the door suddenly burst open.

"Oh, um, sorry, I didn't, uh, I wanted to see if, uh, you were okay, D-uh, Phantom."

The pair looked at Tucker in surprise. Then they moved, Samantha springing to her feet and leaping away from Phantom, and Phantom himself struggling up onto weak legs. Samantha handed him the spare shirt Tucker had brought, and he slipped it on, not bothering to button it up.

Samantha looked out the window. Judging by the blackness of the sky, she decided it was almost midnight. She should go to bed. Besides, her head was aching, and her throat hurt too. She sniffed and took a step towards Tucker.

Suddenly her vision became distorted. It swirled in front of her and she closed her eyes in surprise. Her legs gave beneath her and she collapsed backwards awkwardly, just barely aware of being caught in strong, cold arms before the pain in her broken body swallowed her completely.

**

* * *

wow. who would have thought we'd ever see the day when Sam would be cross with people for _not_ calling her Samantha? lol. **

**eep! some fluff!!! not much, but some!!!**

**sorry for the cliffie. i'm feeling a little evil at the moment :)**

**okay, if you think i've done anything wrong with any of the characters (cough Tucker cough) please let me know so i can fix it!**

**review review review s'il vous plait!!!! until next time...**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	6. Dreams

**A/N - i don't own anything to do with Danny Phantom or Beauty and the Beast**

**

* * *

**

_**Five**_

**

* * *

**

They had dropped him just outside Amity Park, then flown away. He had stumbled through the deepening snow for hours, his pace slowing as he got colder and colder, and as the snow climbed higher and higher up his body.

When he finally saw the lights of the town, the only thing he wanted, the only thing he could think of – was warmth.

He staggered into the tavern, drawing countless strange looks. He shuffled numbly over to the oversized hearth, dropping from his throbbing feet to his shaking knees just in front of it and holding out his hands in pain.

The people in the tavern swapped between giving Jeremy Manson strange looks, and giving them to each other. They all knew who he was – the no good father of Philip Manson's charge, that strange girl who rarely came to town and always left a commotion in her wake.

They had been under the impression Mr. Manson had left town the previous day. So why was he back? And why had he been out in the snow so long that he was _this_ cold?

Four boys and three girls clustered in the corner table watched the old man with amusement. One of them made a snide comment and the other six laughed cruelly.

Dash looked over once again at the blond haired man after he had finished laughing. What an embarrassment. At least his daughter was not as pathetic as he was. She sure was weird, though. He wished he didn't have to marry her, but his father had dragged him into it, and he couldn't dishonor his father like that. What would people say about the Baxter family pariah? He couldn't deal with that kind of negative attention.

He snuck a few more sideways glances at his future father-in-law – God help him – as he shivered and shook by the fireplace.

Gordon, the bartender, walked finally over to Jeremy, looking apprehensive at having to deal with the man. He stood over the elder Manson with his arms tightly folded.

"Mr. Manson? Can I help you?"

Jeremy's head snapped up, and Gordon yelped and inadvertently fell backwards a few steps. His eyes were vacant, staring, heavily ringed. They looked wild and dangerous, but more panicked.

"My Sammy," the man moaned painfully.

"What?" Gordon was recovering from his shock. "What did you say?"

Jeremy suddenly leapt up, grabbing the surprised bartender by the arms and yelling into his face. "He has my Sammy! He has her!"

"Who has Samantha, brother?"

Jeremy's attention snapped to the disheveled man walking towards him from the bar. Recognizing his brother, he jumped towards him, falling to his knees in front of him, tears streaking his face.

"He's taken her, Philip! That madman has taken her prisoner!"

"Who, Jeremy?"

"The Phantom!"

"The what?"

"The Phantom! He's horrible, horrible! He isn't human – he's a monster! He's kidnapped Sammy! My poor Sammy!"

Dash stood up from his place in the corner and walked over to the hysterical man with a sneer. "Describe this 'Phantom' for us."

"He's huge – ten, twelve feet tall!" He sniffled pitifully, gesturing far above his own head, the image of the monster towering over him as he was curled on the floor vividly fresh in his mind. "With pale, no, _white_ skin! And he was translucent – and glowing!"

Sniggers had begun to ripple through the gathering crowd as soon as he had established his imaginary kidnapper's height, and had intensified when he told them he was translucent. But glowing? The laughter in the room was deafening.

Dash wiped a tear from his eye as he laughed uncontrollably. He slapped the old man on the back. "Glowing, you say?"

"Yes, glowing! And his eyes were green – and they glowed too!"

"Of course they did!" Dash screeched, laughing so hard he was doubled over.

Jeremy looked around him at the uproarious crowd around him, his head spinning. He was still freezing, a headache blurring his vision. His sinuses ached, and his throat was sore. The loud noise surrounding him was making his head thump agonizingly.

"I'm telling you!" He shouted furiously. "He has her! We have to go rescue her! Please, Philip," he turned to his brother, grabbing him by the lapels. "Please – we have to go rescue our Sammy!"

Philip wore an expression he had never seen before. It was somewhere between rage and boredom.

"That's enough, Jeremy."

"But, but Philip – Sammy…"

"Give it a rest, brother."

Jeremy was suddenly aware of a vice-like grip on his forearm. Philip was dragging him from the tavern, down the street. He watched the lights of the late-night town flicker past him, meshing into one large light blur every so often. He vaguely noticed climbing a hill, his younger brother still clamping his arm tightly.

They entered a house. Philip's house. They went left, then through a door. Then down some stairs. He had never been down here before. It was dark. He was lying on the floor. His hands were tied together. So were his feet. He couldn't see. He couldn't talk. The light streaming through the door suddenly disappeared, and the metallic sliding of a key in the lock sounded just as he lost consciousness.

* * *

_Sam…_

_The word carried in the wind, screaming for her desperately. It echoed and ricocheted through the mountains, so far away. Snow drifts fell from the tops of the mountains, the firs shook mournfully, rocks tumbled down the sheer sides around her to her feet. She stood at the bottom of the biggest mountain, looking straight up. _

_She wanted to scream back, to cry their name into the sky. To let them know she was there, they it was alright, that she could help them. _

_But she didn't know who it was. _

_Sam…! _

_She reached out a hand, but they were tied behind her. She tried to run forward, but her feet were bound. She tried to scream again, but she was gagged. She tried to look for them again, but her eyes were blindfolded. She was in the basement once more. _

_She fell to the ground, writhing against her bonds. She was suddenly lifted, and the blindfold was gone. She was at the top of the mountain. And her uncle was holding her over the edge of the sheer cliff face. __She couldn't scream. It was pointless. Her arms and legs were still tied. _

_"Samantha," he whispered cruelly. His voice was like a branding iron, burning her, hurting her. She twisted away from the noise. "Samantha, come back. Come back, Samantha." He made her name sound like a curse. _

_Suddenly she was free from him. She was sitting in the middle of a field, white flowers spreading out as far as she could see. The sky above was baby blue. Her dress was purple, the same shade as her eyes. She lifted her head from its place on her knee and looked around her. It was so peaceful. _

_Suddenly a scream resonated through the field. It was a scream of pain. It echoed unnaturally. It was horrible, but she had to listen. She had to know. _

_As the scream continued, the flowers began to die. They began wilting and dropping their petals, and turning black. She looked at them in horror, watching them die. _

_"Help us, Sam. Help us," they moaned to her. She couldn't block them out. She didn't want to. She had to hear. She had to listen. She had to know._

_She stood up, the field of black flowers crying to her under the grey sky. _

_Suddenly there was a flicker of blue before her. Her eyes were drawn to it, and she stepped towards it. There was a flash of movement just in front of her, and she took another step forwards. She couldn't see anything, and the flowers grew quickly until they were taller than her. She looked around her desperately, feeling lost. _

_Just then she saw the movement again. She sprinted forwards. But she tripped over her long dress. She picked it up and continued on. She reached a thicket and looked in desperately. She looked down at her dress. She had to wear it, she had no choice. Right?_

_"Sam?" _

_The voice pierced her mind. She had to find whatever it was she was chasing. She had to. Her dress was suddenly gone, replaced with man's breeches and a black man's shirt. Newly free, she clambered through the thicket. Thorns scratched her face and she winced in pain but continued. No matter what she had to reach the other side. _

_She made it through, battered and bruised, and looked around her. She was no longer in the field. She looked around her. Everything was white. She stood on a white floor, and she could not tell where the white walls and ceiling began, or ended. _

_Suddenly she turned around, and a man was standing behind her. He was just a shadow though, taller than her, but with no definite features. He reached out a hazy hand to her. Although she could not see his face, he had blue eyes, shining at her. _

_She stretched out her own hand, and her fingers were only inches from meeting his, when she suddenly pulled back. _

_"Who are you?" _

_"Does it matter?" _

_She looked distrustfully at the shadow. "I need to know." _

_As soon as she finished her words another deafening wail shot through the air. It was so loud. She threw her hands to her ears in pain and fell to her knees. It carried on, and she forced herself to look up. The shadow was disappearing, falling away in pieces with every second the scream continued. _

_"No!" She cried. "No!" _

_She reached up again for him, her heart wrenching. He held out his own arm as it continued to dematerialize. His fist was clenched, and she held her hand below his. He opened his fingers and let the object wrapped between them drop into her tiny, pale palm. _

_He disappeared, and in his place was a rose. A black rose, white staining the tips of the petals. It was turning by itself in midair, a faint white glow emanating from it. Quite a few of its petals were gone, sitting on the floor below. It looked a step away from death. _

_She blinked at it, and opened her own fingers. It was her locket. It, too, was glowing white. It lifted delicately into the air, its chain trailing behind it like a bridal veil, and floated over to join the black rose. The two melded together with a bright white light, leaving Samantha staring at them in shock._

_Sam…_

_

* * *

_

Jazz stroked a wet cloth over the girl's forehead. It was hot to the touch, though Sam was shaking and shivering. She seemed to be dreaming, turning and writhing every so often.

"No!" She cried. "No!"

Jazz put her hand against Sam's burning cheek reassuringly, but it didn't seem to have any effect. She stroked the raven hair back from her face and fanned her again with the book she had sitting next to her.

The red-headed girl looked weary, black circles beginning to form under her eyes. Her hair was messy and her clothing disheveled. She hadn't slept much for the past three days. But outside the door she could hear the worried pacing of someone she knew for a fact had slept even less than she had in those three days. In fact, she didn't think he had slept at all.

She stood and walked over to the door. The moment she opened it she was seized about the shoulders and pulled into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind her. She looked up into the anxious face of her brother.

"Is she better?"

"No, Danny. In the past twenty minutes since you asked me, she has not suddenly, miraculously, recovered." His face fell into a frown, and she was mildly surprised that he didn't yell at her for that. Maybe this girl was doing some good already. "Danny, if you want to see her so badly, just go in there."

He looked very reluctant.

"She's unconscious."

He had phased through the door, leaving his sister in his dust, before she even saw him move. She smiled knowingly to herself and went downstairs to report to the countless worried servants. That was their last chance lying inert in that room.

Danny stood some feet from her bed, watching her sleep. It was a fitful sleep, and she twisted and moved, frowns distorting her face. He moved tentatively closer.

He felt very strange. Watching her restless sleep was making his own stomach turn nervously. Somewhere deep inside him he just wanted to reach out and make her better, just to heal her. He didn't want to see her like this.

He took another step towards the large bed. When she had first fallen unconscious into his arms in the Emerald drawing room, he had carried her up to the East Wing bedroom, suddenly feeling strangely unkind to have put her in that tiny little room before.

He stepped closer to her. Sweat beaded her forehead, and, without even realizing it, he picked up the cloth on the bedside table and wiped her face gently with it. He looked at her features, crunched into a worried frown, her lips moving agitatedly.

He reached his hand out, setting it on her face. His icy skin seemed to calm her down a little, and her body stopped twitching, leaving just her fingers flickering slightly.

"How?" She murmured.

She was dreaming again. He wondered what she was dreaming about. He traced his forefingers down her hairline from her forehead, looking at her lovely face. She was not beautiful in the traditional way – with her black hair, and her strong features. But he still thought she was beautiful.

"You're beautiful." He told her in a hoarse voice. He didn't want her to die. He couldn't let her die.

"Please, Sam." He whispered, his hand resting tightly on her shoulder. "Don't leave me." He put his hand over her body, on the covers of the bed, supporting him as he leaned over her, his other hand cupping her face. He lowered his forehead to hers and squeezed his eyes shut.

"You're all I have."

* * *

_She was sitting on a river bank. Clear blue water swirled past her, stemming from a flowing waterfall to her right. The cooling spray was bathing her face. Her knees were up, her arms curled around them._

_Even though it was beautiful here, she felt unsafe. The yellow and purple flowers all around her did not give her comfort. She plucked a tiny violet bloom tenderly, twisting it in her hands. _

_Loneliness was all she felt. It was all she knew. _

_Suddenly a hand fell on her shoulder. But she didn't turn around. She closed her eyes, and whoever it was sat down beside her, pulling her head to his chest. _

_"Sam…" _

_She breathed deeply into his thin shirt. _

_"Sam, help me…" _

_"I can't." _

_"Help me, Sam…" _

_"How?" _

_"Sam…" his voice was pained. "Help me." _

_"How?" she cried. She sat up from his chest, but he was gone. Growing out of the ground where he had been was a black rose, white staining the tips. She looked at it resentfully. _

_"What are you?" _

_Wake up, Sam. Wake up. Come back, Sam. Wake up._

_"Please, Sam. Don't leave me. You're all I have."_

_Sam, wake up. Come back Sam...wake up...Sam..._

_

* * *

_

Her amythest eyes slowly flickered open. The first thing she was aware of was a white head resting on her stomach. It only took her a few moments to figure out who it was. 

"Um, Phantom?"

His head shot up at the sound of her voice. He looked into her eyes, but, as before, the neon orbs were expressionless.

"Sam. Better?"

She nodded faintly, confused. Had he been staying with her the whole time she was asleep? Why?

"Have you been here the whole time?"

His whole face shut down, and he stood jerkily. He turned noiselessly and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

She stared after his black-cloaked form in some surprise. "Did he actually _open_ that door?"

* * *

The shadow flew backwards, thumping agonizingly against the opposite wall. It slid down the grey stone face unceremoniously, lying in a disembodied heap on the floor, unmoving and noiseless.

The white-cloaked figure floated across the room, his hand still glowing faintly magenta. His face was twisted into a furious snarl, his vampire-like fangs showing clearly. His red eyes were glowing vividly, and he hovered over the fallen shadow creature disdainfully.

"I told you _not_ to hurt the Phantom child!" He shouted, furor rising in his tone.

The creature's head lifted slightly, painfully. "Why does it matter anyway?"

The red eyes opened in astonishment. "Why does it matter?" The eyes glowed red once more. "_Why_ does it _matter_? Do you have any idea what you could have done had you killed him?"

The creature remained silent, cowering in fear, and the white clothed figure continued, his pale bluish skin tinging red with his extreme anger. "I have been planning this for over ninety-nine years! I have researched curses from all over the world for this!"

"And I suppose you consider yourself an expert, then?"

The creature was silenced with another blast of magenta energy. "I am. The curse if supposed to end at exactly midnight four months from now. If Daniel has not fallen in love, and if that girl has not, in turn, fallen in love with him, he, her, and everyone else under the curse will die.

"But, if Daniel has fallen in love and the girl returns that love - at midnight all under the curse will be returned to normal. And my love with return from the oblivion to which she has been sent."

"Right, so, all that needs to happen is for the girl to fall in love with him."

"Not quite. I said they will be returned to normal. That means that they will all be over one hundred years old. Ghosts can survive that long - but humans?" He sighed. "Impossible. We will all die either way. The curse is a trick curse. Or that ghost who put it upon us was a fool."

"So what are you planning, Vlad?"

"It's 'master' to you, underling." Vlad hissed at the slumped shadow. "What am I planning? Well, according to my research, if the key to the curse is destroyed at the exact moment the curse is due to end, the curse will be void. It will be almost as if it had never happened. All will be the ages they were at the time the curse was set. And I will have my love back."

"Won't her husband retrun with her?"

"Of course!" Vlad scoffed. "But I shall kill him the instant he does."

"Alright. But, wait, isn't the key-"

"Yes, the key is Daniel. So I can't have you killing him _now_, can I? Actually, you don't have much purpose at all anymore. You have made sure she stays at the castle. I have no use for you."

Just then the two hands lifted and shot a powerful dark pink ray at the creature point black, vaporizing it instantly. The hands dropped again, as if nothing had happened, and he turned around.

"Now, how to kill Daniel. He will be heavily guarded. I will need an army to distract them...or, better yet, an angry mob. Angry mobs always do the trick. Where...of course."

He looked out of his window, where, far in the distance, Amity Mountain could be seen set against the dark night. The faint light of Amity Park could also be seen.

"Perfect." He murmured, the fangs showing themselves again in his twisted smile.

**

* * *

**

**review pleeeeeease!!!!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	7. Bored

**A/N - YES!!! I own DANNY PHAN - "" lawyers get excited "" - eh. on second thought. no i dont. or Beauty & the Beast.**

* * *

_**Six**_

* * *

Sam was sitting in the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea. Apparently the chef had managed to scrounge some from somewhere when she had complained that there was nothing for her to drink there except water. 

She looked around herself. The room looked almost exactly the same as it had the first time she had been there, only cleaner. In fact, the whole castle was sporting a lovely, unsoiled feel, as the maids had actually started bothering to clean again. If the cobwebs that Sam had run into in abundance when she had first been at the castle had been any indication, it had been quite some time since the brooms and dusting cloths had been seen around the place.

Sam had occupied her time in the week since her fever attack exploring the castle, though she studiously avoided the West Wing. She didn't like doing it – she felt cowardly, but the truth was she _was_ cowardly. She was afraid of the Phantom might do to her were he to find her there again.

She hadn't seen him since that first time she had woken up. According to Valerie, he had hardly left his room since then. Only Tucker had seen him in there.

He was still a mystery to her.

She had really seen precious little of anyone except Valerie and Jazz. She saw quite a lot of them. She had a niggling feeling that Valerie was following her around. Like an escort, in case she got in trouble again. That she could understand. That seemed like something she would do – to take it upon herself to be a personal guard to their guest.

But Jazz did the same thing – and _that_ Sam did not understand. And she mostly did not understand why Jazz looked panicked whenever they neared a door. Was she afraid she would run away again? But why would she be?

Sam was not stupid. She knew something was going on – and she knew it had to do with her going outside, with Phantom, with all of them, with that rose.

That rose had begun to haunt her dreams on regular occasions. After its first appearance in her fever-induced sleep, she had seen quite a bit of it in the nighttime quiet.

Her hand snuck under her collar to pull out her locket. She let it lie on the tips of her forefingers, the chain snaking along her palm and dripping down her wrist, and back around her neck. She set down her cup of tea and traced her finger along the outline of the silver rose.

Was it just a coincidence that her necklace looked just like the rose in the Phantom's quarters? Was it just a coincidence that it appeared in her dream? Somehow she knew it was not, but she still did not understand.

The door suddenly banged open and Valerie stormed into the kitchen. Sam winced. She had been found.

"Sam!" Valerie yelled. "Where have you been?"

Sam gestured silently to the room around her, as she quickly dropped her locket back underneath her dress.

Valerie rolled her eyes angrily. "You scared me! I thought you had run away again!"

"Why shouldn't I?"

Valerie looked momentarily stumped, but continued after a few seconds of pause. "Don't ever do that again."

"You didn't answer my question. Why shouldn't I go outside?"

Valerie's lips moved for a few moments, though no sound came out of them. Sam cocked an eyebrow and rose from her seat. She stepped backwards, watching Valerie's face. But the other girl's eyes were trained on her feet.

Sam took another step backwards, another, and another. She was nearing the kitchen door. The one that led out to the neglected kitchen gardens. She pushed open the door behind her and hopped out in one sudden, lightning movement.

Valerie darted forwards, her hand resting on the door frame as Sam backed further away from the door.

"Come on Valerie. Come and get me."

Valerie looked at her loathingly. "Please come back inside."

Sam just smiled cockily at her and backed further away. "Come out and get me."

"I can't."

"Scared?"

"I can't!" Valerie shouted at her.

"You, can't? What do you mean you 'can't'?" Sam's eyes suddenly widened in understanding. "Because of the curse?"

"What curse?"

"The curse you'll all under." _Of course! It made so much sense now. This was an _enchanted _castle that she had stumbled upon... _

"We aren't under a curse." But Valerie sounded a lot like she was acting badly.

Sam nodded knowingly. "Right." She walked back to the door, stepping past Valerie, who had moved out of the way, and back over to her tea.

"It's cold!" She moaned. Valerie rolled her eyes, but was still worried. If Sam knew about the curse – she couldn't break it. That would be cheating.

_Relax Valerie, maybe she doesn't know all of it. She just knows there's a curse. She doesn't know how to break it. But who told her about it? I'll kill them. _Her thoughts passed to the only one in the castle who would be foolish enough to let it slip.

_Tucker! _

Her fists clenched angrily. Sam turned around from mourning her cold tea to find Valerie absolutely steaming behind her.

"Valerie? You alright?"

"I'm fine." She replied through gritted teeth.

Sam gave her a strange look but let it go. "Valerie? I'm bored."

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" the other girl snapped.

Sam looked crossly at her. "I don't know. Fine, be horrible, I don't have to listen to you." And with that she stomped upstairs to her new quarters in the East Wing.

Valerie waited for a few moments in the kitchen before taking off stormily in the opposite direction, her prime target probably being in the West Wing with her other friend.

Sam marched through the castle, not sure whether each stomp was relieving some of her anger – or intensifying it. She reached her room and slammed the door. She was pretty sure no-one had heard the loud noise, but it made her feel better. The East Wing was as far away from the west one as you could get without bunking down outside. She knew he had done it on purpose.

She went and sat, still steaming, on her bed. It was true, what she had said to Valerie. She was bored. She was incredibly bored. She had now explored the whole castle, except for one door that was locked down in one of the corners of the kitchen, but she had a feeling that was just a pantry.

She slumped backwards to lie on the bed, closing her eyes tightly, thinking of home.

* * *

The door to the West Wing bedroom flew open with a noise not unlike a thunderclap. One of the two figures in the room leapt a few feet into the air, but the other just turned an uninterested eye to the intruder. 

"Valerie!" Tucker shouted. "What was that for?"

She stormed right up to him, grabbing his collar and pulling his face right up close to hers. Her eyes cried murder.

"Tucker! You told her about the curse!"

"I did?"

"Yes, you did!"

"How do you know?"

Valerie turned to the dark figure who had just moved silently over to the squabbling pair, not removing her fist from Tucker's lapels.

"Who else would be that stupid?"

"Hey! Honestly, Val, I didn't tell her!"

"Did she say he did?" Danny interjected.

Valerie grumbled her answer reluctantly. "No."

"Then how do you know she didn't just figure it out herself? She isn't an idiot."

"And this whole place screams cursed castle!" Tucker added hastily in his own defense.

Valerie reluctantly dropped Tucker, who smoothed out his clothes and put his arm around her as she grumbled an apology. "Don't worry, babe."

"Stop calling me that," she said crossly, though she was smiling.

Danny turned away from the happy – albeit strange – couple, back over to look at the rose. Presently he realized he was not alone.

"It looks worse than the last time I saw it." Valerie's comment was quiet and pained.

Danny was silent.

Valerie spoke again after a short silence. "She says she's bored."

"Of course she's bored." Tucker scoffed. "The woman's been in this place for over a week now and Mr Sunshine here hasn't even seen her for most of that week. The only people she's been with are Jazz and Val. No wonder she's going insane."

Valerie gave him a punch on the arm that was mostly mocking. "He's right, Danny. You could at least talk to her? How is she going to fall in love with you if she never speaks to you?"

"She won't fall in love with me anyway. Why bother?"

Valerie raised her eyebrow crossly. "How do you know?"

"I'm dead. And something tells me she isn't the necrophilia type."

"She doesn't know that. And she never has to find out."

"Actually, Tucker, she knows we're ghosts."

"Dammit. Oh, come on Danny, you might as well try. I mean, you like her, right?"

"No."

"Sure."

Danny glared at Valerie. "What would I even say to her?"

There was a long silence, before the couple looked at each other blankly.

"Exactly." Danny mumbled as he walked away.

"Now wait a minute." Valerie flew over to stand in front of him. "You could start by cleaning yourself up a bit. Do you have any idea how long your hair is? You look like a yeti. And some sleep might be a good idea – _les bags_ are never a good look. And do you _always _have to wear black?"

"Yes."

She sighed exasperatedly at him. "Fine. And as for what to say – don't say anything."

"What?"

"Give her something."

"Yeah, yeah!" Tucker shot over. "Give her a present!"

"A present." He sounded dubious. "What good will that do? She hates me."

"Hey, man, a good gift will solve anything."

"Alright, and what do you propose I give her?"

Tucker and Valerie looked deep in thought. Danny was just about to turn around and walk away from his two friends when Tucker's head suddenly came up, his face shining elation.

"I got it!"

* * *

Sam wandered finally downstairs after a few hours moping in her room. She had almost convinced herself that she had just been thinking – but she had been moping, and she hated that. 

She walked into the north drawing room. It was the most sedate room she had found in the whole castle, all dark blues and grays. She slumped onto the navy sofa with a sharp exhale. Then she exhaled again. Frustration was radiating through her.

The violent exhales morphed into furious yells. She stood up and started stomping. She vented all her boredom, frustration, sadness, anger, loneliness on the floorboards. She stomped and stomped and stomped.

Suddenly her foot froze in midair.

She set it back down on the floor where she had just thrown it and pressed down. She heard a strange creaking noise. That hadn't been there anywhere else she stomped.

She fell onto her knees and pulled away the rug before her, revealing what looked very much like a trap door in the floor.

"Now _this_ is interesting." She smiled, her fingers coming down to slip around the ring on the door. She pulled hard, and the door came up with minor protestation but a lot of squeaking.

She peered dubiously down into the black hole she had revealed. She could vaguely make out some steps descending downwards. She scanned the room and grabbed a lit candlestick, then hitched up her skirt and went down into the ground, the black swallowing her completely.

She walked for what seemed like hours, not entirely sure where she was. She tried to use her limited knowledge of the castle's layout to guide her, but it did not help her. She knew that the tunnel she was in was some sort of extensive underground labyrinth.

The dark was enveloping, and even the meager light from the slowly dying flame could not dispel it. Wait. The dying flame? She looked at her candle. There was precious little of it left. She hadn't realized how low it had been when she had grabbed it.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit." she hissed.

She turned to go back up, knowing that being down here with no candle was a very stupid idea.

But she was faced with a three way fork in the tunnels, and she looked at them in despair. She whipped back around. There were several direction options. She picked the far left one and ran, hoping upon hope that it would lead somewhere she could get out of.

She rounded a corner, and just before her candle died, she saw two shining red eyes right before her.

Her bloodcurdling shriek reverberated through the maze of tunnels.

* * *

**uh oh. cliffie. ""ducks in cover""**

**review review review!!!!!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	8. Gift

**A/N - no. Danny Phantom no mine, and neither is Beauty and the Beast :(**

**i'm so sorry it took me so long to update - but once i finished this chapter i went away for a long weekend and only just got back!!! next one _shouldn't_ take as long...**

* * *

**_Seven_**

* * *

The candlestick dropped to the floor, the light going out instantly. Sam's arms flew up in front of her face, braced for the attack she was certain would come. She waited. 

And waited.

Finally she moved her arms away and opened her eyes. The red eyes she had seen before were gone.

"What the…" she mused, walking forwards. Her face smacked into something pretty solid and she yelped in surprise. But it didn't feel like one of the stone walls. She ran her fingers across it, not recognizing the texture. What was it? She hated not being able to see.

But to her right was a dim yellow glow. It looked like the glow of a candle, and she gravitated towards it. When she arrived there she found no candle, but that the light was in fact coming from a crack in the floor above her.

_It must be another trap door,_ was her first thought. _A way out! _was her second.

She moved towards it, but all of a sudden to her left she noticed more eyes staring at her. She gasped again and wheeled to the side to face them. She was faced with row upon row of them, staring at her. All different colors, in different bodies, different heights.

Before her were dozens and dozens of paintings.

Her curiosity flared and she stepped towards them, squinting slightly in the dim light cast from above. The first one that caught her eye was a man and woman she did not recognize. The woman had auburn hair and a small face. Next to her was a giant of a man with pitch black hair and a belly to match his height. She did not recognize either of them directly, but something about them seemed very familiar.

The next painting was of a young girl sitting on a pink stool, a childish smile playing across her lips. She looked to be about two or three years old. Her hair, like the other woman's, was auburn, only with more red laced through it. Her eyes were a green-blue hue, and she looked very familiar indeed. Sam's eyes widened suddenly as she realized exactly why she recognized her.

It was Jazz.

Jazz, only younger. And less transparent. She smiled at the young, more human-looking version of her friend, and turned her attention to the next painting along. It was huge. It towered several feet over Sam's head, and was almost as wide.

It showed four figures. The first was the huge man from the first painting, his arm around the woman. Sam could see them both clearly. But across the bottom of the painting was a huge scorch mark, a greenish tinge staining the canvas around it. The mark obscured the faces of the two figures at the bottom of the painting. All Sam could see was the top of a black-haired head.

She gazed once more down the line of paintings. She could tell, now that her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, that the red eyes she had seen before were actually brown eyes from a painting that had had a strange glow cast across it from the light seeping through the floor above. She had thought for a moment that it had been the shadowy, wolf, thing, again. She sighed in relief.

"Why are these all down here?" she asked herself out loud. Her mind suddenly snapped back to the space on the wall in the Phantom's room, where she had thought there might once have been a picture. Come to think of it, she had seen similar dark spots all over the castle on her tour and during her solo explorations.

"So _this_ must be where all those paintings went," she mused. "But why were they moved?"

She shook her head, deciding to disregard this particular mystery, and turned her attention to her possible escape route. She stood right beneath it, looking up, her arms folded.

"Okay, there were _steps_ coming down from the other one," she said crossly. "Where are the steps for this one?"

A quick scan of the tunnels around her revealed no staircase. She scowled. The darkness was beginning to freak her out. Not scare her – she wasn't scared. Just, unnerved.

"Alright. So…how do I get out?"

* * *

Jazz glided swiftly down the hallway, deep in thought. 

She liked the girl. She had a vibrancy of character that had been sorely missed in this castle. In the past years, Jazz had been becoming more and more afraid that not only would Danny lose the will to live, but that he would forget how to do so. Although they were all technically ghosts, Danny was the only one who actually acted like he was one.

And it worried her.

But this girl had only been there a little over a week and already a change was sparking through her little brother. She had not missed the worry flickering through his normally dead eyes when Sam had been sick. She didn't miss the strange way he flinched whenever her name was mentioned.

She smiled to herself.

She suddenly noticed that the door to the north drawing room was wide open. She sighed. They had been meaning to fix that door. She moved over to close it, and she suddenly noticed the rug. One corner of it was flung over, revealing the trap door below.

She moved over to it, going down onto her knees.

"Hello?" she called down into the labyrinth. "Anyone down there?" There was no reply, and she sat back on her heels. "Why is it open?" She decided that someone was using the passage to get to somewhere else in the castle faster – it was good for that. Although, it hadn't been used in years – after discovering that they could just phase right the way through the castle, the passage was no longer necessary for the castle's inhabitants. Even if someone _was_ in there they could just phase out again. And Sam was safely ensconced in her room.

She shook her head and shut the trap door, twisting the handle to lock it closed, and pulled the rug back over it neatly.

* * *

"Hey, Kwan, have you seen Sam?" 

Kwan shook his head. "Not today, Valerie."

Valerie scowled. She was going to wring that girl's neck when she found her. She had been searching for almost an hour – but this was a big castle, and she could be almost anywhere.

"Sam!" She shouted, striding out again into the hallway. "Sam, where are you?"

She started muttering crossly to herself. She was supposed to go get Sam from her room while Tucker and Danny prepared her present. She had thought it would be the easier job of the two. She scowled again.

"Sam!" Her voice was grating now with annoyance. "Where are you, you annoying little…?" She grumbled some more, stomping down the hall, checking every door and every room.

But almost an hour later, she was still searching. And she was starting to get worried now. What if she had hurt herself? Or worse – what if she had run away again?

"Sa-am!" She screamed.

Her voice echoed through the hallways, but was not answered. She swore and turned on her heel, stalking crossly towards the kitchen.

But she was met in the hallway with a broad chest. Looking down at the ground, she hadn't noticed it until she made contact.

"Ow! Get out of my way you…"

"You, what?"

She snarled when she heard his voice. "Danny. I can't find her."

"What?" He looked almost disbelieving.

"I can't find her anywhere."

His eyes flickered, and then his whole face fell. Valerie was startled, and her eyes widened. That sadness was one of the most human expressions she had seen him wear in almost one hundred years – discounting anger, of course. He lowered his head, and when he brought it back up, his face was stoic.

"Has she run away again?"

Valerie shrugged impatiently. How was she supposed to know?

"Well, check the stables. See if her horse is gone. Or any horse," he added, remembering his own stallion that she had stolen last time.

"Sure."

She dashed off, leaving him standing there in silence. Suddenly he heard a faint banging noise. Confused, he turned his head towards the sound. It seemed to be coming from the room to his left. He took a few steps towards the door, then phased through it into the room beyond. He scanned the interior, looking for the source of the banging.

It was coming from – the floor? He walked over and knelt down beside the sofa. There was a definite banging originating from under the floorboards beneath the sofa. He pushed the heavy piece of furniture aside with ease and looked down at the trap door. He knew there were underground passages snaking all over the castle, but he did not know where all the trap doors were. It seemed he had found another exit.

He grabbed the handle and twisted it. It protested vehemently, and another bang sounded from below. The ring suddenly twisted sideways with a jerk and the door swung open amidst a symphony of squeaks and creaks. He peered down into the hole, his glowing eyes illuminating the dark space below with an eerie green light.

"You gonna help me out?"

It was just after he heard her snarled comment that he actually saw her. Her hands were attached to her hips, her face enraged. Her hair was mussed, and her worn dress was dirty. She stared up at him.

"Well?" She hissed.

He scowled and descended into the hole gently. He landed right beside her, but she made no move to come to him. He frowned at her ridiculous pride – if that was what it could be called – and held out his arm to her.

"Come on."

She suddenly scuffed her feet in a decidedly uncharacteristic movement. She seemed very uncomfortable. Her arms uncrossed, though he was unsure of whether or not she was actually aware of them doing so. One hand crept up to hug her other elbow, and she turned her face away from him, as if she was ashamed.

"I don't want to touch you."

He was taken aback. "Wh-what?"

"You hurt me."

_What?_ "I, I do?"

"Please. Don't try and pretend you don't know what I'm talking about."

"Sam, I don't have to pretend. Don't you want to get out of here?"

She suddenly looked very angry. "No, I think I'd rather stay in the creepy cave, get lost in the endless passageways, and never…and never find my…oh _fine_!" She sighed furiously.

She took a step towards him, but just before she would have touched his outstretched forearms, she stopped. "Please go quickly."

He frowned, but nodded. She held out her slender arms, allowing him to take them, and he hugged her into his body, turning them both intangible so he would not have to worry about maneuvering them both through the decidedly small hole that was their exit.

Immediately after landing he released her, as per her request, and watched her stagger backwards, discomfited. Did he really hurt her? He did not mean to.

She looked suspiciously up at him, her violet eyes framed with dirt. How long, exactly, had she been down there? Her long hair had fallen out of its bun and was cascading down her back in ratty tendrils. She seemed, once again, to be shoeless.

"Where are your shoes?"

"I _ate_ them." She snapped. His eyes widened, and hers rolled, annoyed, at him. "I was throwing them at the trapdoor."

"Why?"

"How else was I supposed to get you people – er, ghosts – to find me? And could you have _taken_ any longer?"

"Hey – it's not my fault you wandered into the passage and got yourself _lost_!"

"Well, if you didn't lock yourself in your room and leave me to _rot_ in mine I wouldn't have gone _into_ the passage!"

He stared at her. How could one young girl possibly annoy him _so_ much? He seemed to alternate between wanting to grin whenever he saw her and wanting to wring her scrawny, sarcastic little neck.

He shook his head. There was a strange silence between them. She abruptly turned on her heel and made to leave the room. He suddenly found himself calling out.

"Sam?"

_Shut up you idiot! _

She leaned on the doorframe, looking crossly back at him. "What?"

_Don't do it. You don't have to do it. Nothing's making you! _

"I, uh, thank you. Thank you for helping me. That night with the wolf? Um, thank you."

_Traitor. _

She looked taken aback. Stunned, even. She took some steps back towards him, her head tilted questioningly to the side, studying him.

"You're welcome." The next part seemed slightly strained. "Thank you, too." He barely caught her murmur. "For saving me."

He nodded brusquely. "You're my prisoner – and therefore my responsibility."

She fixed him a look. He knew that look so well by now.

"Sure."

She turned tail and exited the room, leaving him gaping after her. Had she just…? He moaned and smacked his forehead. What was the _matter_ with him?

All of a sudden he remembered the reason he had actually wanted to find her in the first place. He floated out of the room and down the corridor after her retreating figure. He landed right in front of her and was oddly pleased to see that he had surprised her. She was a hard one to startle.

She crossed her dirty arms, pretending she had not jumped when she had seen him land in front of her. "What?"

"I want to show you something."

"What is it?"

He pursed his lips and held out his hand. She looked dubiously at it, then peered into his eyes. He suddenly remembered that she did not want to touch him, and made a noise that could either have been a sad sigh or an impatient one. He beckoned for her to follow him, and then turned to walk down the hall.

After a long moment's hesitation, he heard her follow him. He grinned to himself.

* * *

Sam stared confusedly at the back of the ghost before her. She had mixed feelings about whatever it was he wanted to show her. On the one hand, it could be something horrible and gruesome that his twisted ghost mind concocted and that she probably did not want to see. 

And on the other, it could be something that the gentle ghost Phantom, who had just rescued her from the freaky tunnels and had blushed as he had thanked her, had decided to share with her.

So she followed him with mixed feelings – surprise joining the mêlée of thoughts in her head as he led her out of the castle, far further than she had ventured outside the walls in her week of captivity.

And when he turned suddenly, she was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't notice he had halted until she walked right through him. She received a strange and more intense version of the sensation of touching him that she had first felt when she had been bandaging him the night she had been attacked by the wolf. Tiny shivers passed through her body, and it felt a little like walking through cold steam.

She stopped abruptly just behind him, tingles coursing down her spine. She shook herself, unnerved, and turned to face him.

"Why'd you stop?"

"Close your eyes."

She scowled. "Sure. I'm gonna close my eyes and leave myself completely at your twisted ghostly mercy."

He frowned down at her. "Please?"

Her violet eyes widened. Had he actually just said 'please'? Was this the same ghost she had known who locked her up, banished her father, practically ruined her life and caused her agony every time he touched her?

She closed her eyes. She suddenly received a slight breeze across her face, and she guessed he was waving his hand before her, checking they were really shut. She only just managed to catch a grin before it showed on her face.

He took her hand. An inflow of emotions, as always, ensued, but this time they were not painful. They were softer emotions – anticipation, nervousness, even happiness? She was surprised.

Then she was aware of being gently dragged somewhere, her feet scuffing slightly, as she was reluctant to lift them completely. After a while they stopped, and Phantom moved to stand beside her. She could feel him towering above her, his hand still holding hers, though _that_ little detail she barely noticed.

"Shut your eyes."

"They are shut," she retorted, instantly closing the eye that had been creeping open. How had he known?

She was suddenly lifted by an arm snaked around her waist, his hand still gripping hers. They floated vertically for a short distance before touching down to the ground again. His arm left her waist, and his hand dropped from hers. She felt a small pang of loss, but swallowed it quickly, frightened by the emotion.

"Alright, Sam," he whispered into her ear. She vaguely noticed the lack of breath tickling her skin. "Open your eyes."

She did so. And they widened. She looked around her in astonishment. She was in a garden – but it was like no garden she had ever seen before. They were standing on a stone balcony that rose out over flowers and trees and elegant shrubbery stretching out almost as far as she could see. Flowers of every color she had ever seen and colors she had not were displayed proudly below her. Far off to her right was a glimmering lake, plants growing in that too. To her left was a maze that was quite overgrown, but still magnificent.

Willows draped themselves all over the garden, their silver leaves rustling in the gentle mountain breeze. The grass was pure green, if a little unkempt. In the distance the silver mountains rose majestically, adding the finishing touch to the most beautiful place Sam had ever seen.

Her mouth had dropped open, her whole body freezing. She eventually jerked herself out of her reverie, and turned to the man beside her.

"Phantom, it's, it's just so…"

"It's yours."

Her purple eyes caught his green ones. "What?"

"If you want it, it's yours."

She swallowed, speechless. He was giving her this wonderful garden? All of it? It was hers?

"Really?" Her voice sounded perilously close to cracking with emotion.

"Well, I know you're bored, so I just thought…Tucker and Valerie said you seemed excited when they mentioned it before, so I guessed, maybe…"

He trailed off, and her face broke into a smile.

"It's beautiful. Th-thank you, so much!"

She threw her arms up towards his neck before she could catch herself. His surprise radiated from him into her, even though her arms phased through him. She let her arms lie where they would if she could actually touch him, deciding that that was almost as good as truly embracing him.

She turned up her head to look into his eyes, but was suddenly blinded by an eyeful of his white hair. She gasped raspily and pulled back, ripping at her face in alarm. She heard a strange noise and looked up at Phantom in shock.

He was laughing.

Her eyes widened. _Phantom_ was _laughing_? She had not known he was _capable_ of laughing. She displaced her astonishment and narrowed her eyes at him.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Your face." He chuckled, the remains of his amusement tingeing his voice.

She snorted at him, glaring at his mid-back length white hair. "You need a haircut."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I haven't had a haircut in almost one hun-uh, one heck of along time."

"My point exactly."

She reached up and wiped at her face, where she had thought she felt a hair remaining. He started laughing again. She scowled at him, then turned and walked back to the castle. She planned on tending to her brand new garden – to calm herself. That was what she usually did.

She scrounged a sharp hedge-cutter from a side room in the lower part of the castle, and was already heading out with them when she froze, something hitting her. She raised the clippers in front of her, a devilish smile flitting across her face.

* * *

It was the dead of night. The whole castle was silent once more. The hallways were empty. Suddenly, one of the doors in the East Wing cracked open. A dark head peered around the portal, scanning the halls. Seeing nothing, the rest of her body slipped round through the doorway and moved silently along the hall. Her legs were bent so she could tread softer, her whole body braced to jump into hiding, were she to be found. 

She quickened her pace as she grew bolder, almost running through the castle. She reached the opposite wing of the palace, and stepped up the stairway, slowing right down. She stopped right outside the doors, looking up at them.

Was she really going to do it? She looked at the clippers in her hand, the grin creeping back onto her lips. Oh, yes, she was.

She pushed open the left door as little as necessary and squeezed through the gap. She walked towards the bed, once more fully tensed and ready to spring to cover. She neared the bed, and could see the figure splayed across it. He seemed to be wearing his normal black attire, minus the cape, which was lying on the floor by the bed. He did not snore, but she decided that was because he did not breathe.

She drew closer, a little worried. What if he woke up? What if he was not sleeping – just resting? _Did_ ghosts sleep?

But she needed her revenge. She suppressed her misgivings and moved right up beside him. She slipped her fingers carefully around a chunk of his hair. Her heart was pounding. She stole a glance at his face, the thought that he was really almost handsome in repose flitting through her mind once more.

There was a strange metallic shuffling noise, and several locks of white hair fell to the ground. She bit her lip in a victorious smile. A few more slices later she turned and exited the room, grinning excitedly to herself.

* * *

Danny woke up the next morning, feeling no different from when he went to bed. Sleep seemed to do nothing for him, but he did it anyway – mostly out of habit. He rubbed his eyes blearily and moved across the room, intending to go tell Tucker how his gift to Sam had worked out. 

But he caught a glimpse of himself in a shard of mirror that lay on the ground, and he froze. He backtracked and picked up the piece of glass. He looked at himself. His hand came up and ran through his newly short hair. It was cut messily, flipping forwards into his face, and basically being a disorganized mess everywhere else.

His lips moved. But they did not become a snarl, a scowl, or a feral expression in any way.

They curved into a smile.

"This means war."

* * *

**please review!!!!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	9. Revenge

**A/N - -rolls eyes- we all know i don't own danny phantom OR beauty and the beast**

**check out my profile - i have up some ideas for future stories. please tell me which one ya like bestest!!!**

**i'm sorry it took so long to update - i've got exams on, and i've been revising like a loon ;) so next update might take a while too :s sorry**

**

* * *

**

_**Eight**_

**

* * *

**

He sat silently in the corner of her room, his arms folded nonchalantly across his chest, watching the bustle. He was, of course, invisible, and did not make the tiniest noise, or movement.

Inside the room was his sister, and Valerie, along with several other women of the castle. Reels of fabric and mountains of pincushions and scissors were scattered randomly throughout the room. People – ghosts – moved around, shouting to each other and laughing. And in the middle of it all was Sam, her expression adorable and completely priceless, her arms held out to the side, her fists tightly clenched, wearing only an old petticoat of Jazz's. Her mouth was set firmly down, her whole body rigid.

Various different women were holding up measuring tapes and fabrics to her body and face, then barking out figures, denials, or assents to others clutching paper and quills.

A faint smile tugged at his lips as one of the women held a pastel pink fabric with white laced through it to the girl's stoic face. She recoiled from it, ignoring the yelps and gasps for her not to move and hissed at the poor girl holding the cloth.

"If you make me a pink dress, I will make you _wish_ you could die."

The ghostly girl's face drained of any remaining color and she hastily stumbled backwards, pulling the offending cloth with her.

Danny crushed his hand against his mouth before his chuckle slipped out. He couldn't let them know he was there. He stepped backwards and phased out of the room. He stayed invisible until he was once more inside his own wing, hers safely behind him. He had what he needed.

He waited until later before marching downstairs, down into the servants' quarters. He spotted the girl he wanted – Star – sitting sedately on her bed, busily sewing a black and purple floor-length dress. He ignored the dress and slipped right up next to her.

"Star?"

She looked up at him, surprise radiating from her, her sewing hand frozen in midair. "Y-yes my lord?"

"I have a special request from our guest – about her new dresses?"

* * *

She usually ate alone. She would normally have said that she preferred it that way, but ever since that trick she pulled cutting Phantom's hair she had been a little – just a little – on edge, and appreciated the guard, even if that was not what it was actually intended to be.

It wasn't like she was scared. She was just…healthily wary. She had thought at the beginning, once she had cleared her thoughts and realized that maybe taunting the antisocial specter who would probably care as much about blasting her down the mountain as he would swatting a fly, was not the most intelligent thing to do, that he would seek some sort of bloody revenge.

But it had been three days, and still nothing had happened. She was torn between being a nervous wreck waiting for a prank around every corner and deciding that he had let it pass.

She laughed out loud at herself, cupping her hand in front of her mouth so as not to give poor Jazz across the table a pleasant view of her half-chewed breakfast.

He wouldn't let it pass. She was in for it. She just didn't know what to look for.

Jazz had decided, upon realizing that the only clothing Sam actually had to wear was the horrible, raggedy, most likely homespun piece of material she had been wearing when she had arrived, that new clothes were in order. She had actually yelped when she had figured it out and decided right then and there that they would make her a whole new wardrobe.

She had asked Sam for any special requests and, much to her horror, had been asked for some breeches and a shirt, complete with boots. But apparently she had conceded. She had gone and stolen a pair of Tucker's brown boots – guessing correctly that they would be the right size – and Sam had worn no other shoes since she had first been presented with them.

Star, their best seamstress, had announced that all the other dresses were ready earlier that day, and Jazz excitedly sat opposite the younger – much younger – girl, waiting for her to finish eating. They had put all the dresses, and the heinous breeches and shirts, in the wardrobe up in their guest's chambers, and wanted to surprise her after breakfast.

Finally Sam set down her utensils and wiped her mouth with the napkin. She was already a huge favorite with their chef – an opportunity for him to actually _cook_ things. The other residents of the castle rarely ate, if ever. Her brother, she knew, had eaten nothing since he had figured out that he could live without doing so.

"Done?"

"No – I was just gonna start eating with my fingers."

Jazz rolled her eyes at her fledgling friend's unwavering sarcasm. "Good, 'cause I want to show you something." She stood. "Follow me!"

Sam did so, and the two women wove their way through the enormous castle, up staircases and down hallways until they reached Sam's room. Jazz wanted to just fly and phase there from the dining hall, but Sam had earlier informed all the inhabitants of the castle that she disliked being flown around like a piece of baggage, so she refrained.

Sam pushed open the door to her room to follow Jazz, who had already entered, and stood before the hovering girl, looking mildly bored.

"So…what did you want to show me?"

Jazz smiled with an expression Sam could only describe as glee. She clapped her hands together and floated speedily over to her wardrobe. Sam rolled her eyes. She had already guessed that her new clothes were done. Truthfully the only things she would be glad to see were the shirt and breeches. All the dresses could just sit in there and fester for all she cared. She _had_ _told_ Jazz she wouldn't wear them if she had a choice.

She watched as the over-excited girl fastened her hands around the door handles, and then swung both doors open wide dramatically. And what she saw inside the cupboard made her stomach cave in on itself.

Everything was pink. _Everything_. A baby pink dress hung next to a bright pink one, next to a purple-ish pink dress with yellow trimmings. A pink shirt was positioned beside some white breeches with pink stitching.

Sam looked at the clothes in horror.

"They're…pink!" she rasped. Jazz seemed to have already noticed something was wrong, and her face had fallen.

"You, don't like pink?"

"I said no pink!" she whispered heavily, still staring in dismay at the clothing infesting her wardrobe, especially the putrid shirt and the horrific breeches.

"I don't understand. Star!" Jazz bellowed, not tearing her eyes from the clothes. The sound reverberated through the wing, and it was only a few moments later that the two girls could hear running footsteps.

"Yes, milady?" the evidently nervous girl asked, standing small in the doorway.

"Why are these all pink?" Jazz demanded.

"I _hate_ pink," Sam whispered, more to herself than to the others, her gaze still firmly fixed on the items in the closet.

"I, I don't understand, milady!" Star stuttered, looking taken aback. "I thought the lady wished all her clothing to be pink!"

"What? Did she say that?"

"N-no, but I'm certain – the master himself explicitly told me–"

"The master?" Sam snapped, jerking her head towards the trembling girl. She practically snarled. "I should have guessed."

The outwardly fuming young woman was absolutely screaming inside, tossing every nasty word she could think of into her next sentence. _That lowlife, vile, sneaky, obnoxious, repulsive inhuman _bastardHow _could_ he? What was she supposed to _wear_? She ought to storm right up there right now and give him absolute hell…or maybe not.

She smiled secretively and un-hunched her back, ignoring the strange glances cast her way from the other two girls in the room at her rapid expression and posture change. If he wanted a battle, he was going to get one.

"Oh, heavens – what_ever_ shall I do?" She wailed, pressing her hand to her cheek and widening her eyes. "I cannot possibly wear any of that! And this dress won't last much longer. Oh – I shall have to just wear your shift, Jazz! All day. In the gauzy shift. All day long. The humiliation! Oh, just leave me! Leave me in peace!"

She collapsed forwards onto her bed melodramatically, listening for the two girls leaving the room. There was silence, as shock practically radiated from the others, but she eventually heard them exit and close the door for her.

She sat up on the soft bed, that smile creeping back. She looked at the sky outside her window. He would be in the West Wing drawing room about now, with Tucker.

His bedroom completely at her mercy.

* * *

Danny invisibly walked back up to the West Wing, an annoying smile fixed on his face. He couldn't get rid of it, so he had just decided to become invisible so nobody could see it. Besides; he didn't want anyone to know he had been standing right outside Sam's room for so long.

His plan had worked. He had ruined all her clothes. He had won. The smile intensified as he pushed open the door to his wing's private drawing room. He walked across the room to stand in front of the fireplace. He had heard her say she would have to wear Jazz's shift. She would be completely and totally humiliated in front of everyone in the whole castle. He knew she would be eating dinner later on – he could go gloat at her then.

Tucker pushed open the door just then and walked into the room.

"Hey. So how did the present go?"

"She really liked it."

"Yes! I told you so!"

Danny harrumphed. "She annoys me."

Tucker stopped his strange victory dance and stared at his friend. "What?"

Danny sighed. "Nevermind. I just…"

_I can't figure out whether I like her or hate her. It seems to change each time I see her. I don't understand. Nobody has ever confused me this much. _

Tucker gave him a strange look. He drew out the vowels in his next word nervously. "Anyway, I just came up to tell you that dinner is served."

Tucker always came up to tell him that. Danny knew that he was always naïvely wishing he would come down to spend time with their guest.

He obviously didn't know about their secret miniature battle.

But this time Danny nodded, allowing that grin to slip back onto his lips. "Alright." And, to Tucker's astonishment, he glided down through the floor, apparently on a trajectory for the dining hall several floors below them. The dark-skinned servant watched the white head of his friend disappear, then shrugged and followed him, feeling more than slightly bemused.

Danny landed gracefully on the floor of the dining hall, the titanic fireplace and hearth stretching over most of the wall behind him, crackling comfortingly and giving off heat that he knew was there, but could never feel. Before him stretched out the enormous table, one place setting laid out at the end for Sam.

She wasn't there yet. He walked to the head of the table and stood there, folding his arms, his black cloak sweeping over his shoulders and parting across his chest to bisect his upper arms. He waited.

Suddenly one of the doors was opened by one of the servants, and the girl he awaited stepped through.

But she wasn't wearing Jazz's shift. Oh no.

She was wearing his clothes. A black shirt of his, some of his black breeches, and his black boots. The shirt was far too large for her, bagging around her slim figure, but was tucked into the long breeches. The oversized trousers, in turn, had been tucked deep inside the clumping boots. Her raven hair had been pulled back with a black ribbon, and she had a mischievous smile on her face that, unbeknownst to him, had not left her face since she had first entered his room to steal the outfit.

His mouth fell open, and his arms dropped. "You…my…you're…my…clothes…" He stuttered stupidly, serving not intensify her victorious grin, but also to cause them to appear on the faces of the multitudes of servants who were clustered haphazardly up against the kitchen door, eavesdropping shamelessly on their master and the newly discovered bane of his existence.

She listened to his stuttering for a few more seconds, relishing in the knowledge that she had actually, truly baffled him. She had uprooted the unflappable Phantom. She had won.

But suddenly she took a step backwards. His glowing green eyes had begun to change; as if the emerald storms inside them were becoming angrier, swirling madly, the color becoming richer. Their aura started to intensify until they made the room glow slightly green along with the gold from the fireplace.

He was mad. Really, really mad.

But all of a sudden his pale lips cracked unpredictably into a grin. He lowered his head and looked up from underneath his white eyebrows at her.

"You're dead."

Her eyes widened. Was he serious? For some reason she couldn't decide whether or not he was joking. It seemed perfectly in character for him – and yet grossly out of it at the same time.

He took a step towards her. She involuntarily took a step back. He inched towards her, that almost maniacal grin still on his face. She backed up until her back connected with the door frame.

Suddenly his whole body jolted as he leapt into the air. She yelped and ducked, falling to the ground just in time. He was headed straight for the wall, but phased right through it at the last minute. Sprawled across the floor – glad she was not wearing a dress – she was not willing to take any chances with the unpredictable ghost. She leapt nimbly to her feet and ran across the room to the other exit. She rounded the corner and sprinted down the hallway.

She was planning on hiding in her room; until she realized that that was obviously the first place he would look for her. So she turned her feet and skidded around a sudden corner, directly towards the North Wing.

Her feet were tapping ever so slightly, and it was in that relative silence that she suddenly heard a thump behind her. Her chest clenched violently once and she leapt to the side, pressing her body against the wall. She knew instinctively that he was on her heels. Her teeth crept over her bottom lip as she closed her eyes and stretched all her senses out to locate him.

She heard a very faint pat just around the corner, and recognized it as the sound the denizens of the castle made when they landed on the ground after having been floating. She looked to her side. There was about fifty feet left of it to run before she rounded the corner. She didn't think she could make it without him catching her.

She looked straight in front of her. There was another corridor. She smiled slightly and reached down silently to remove her right shoe. She held it in her hand as she took off the other as well. She drew her arm back and threw the shoe down the hallway. Instantly she tossed the other, listening with satisfaction as they made two subtle but audible thumps down the corridor.

He suddenly rounded the corner, running along the ground instead of floating. He ran down the hallway and she grinned, detaching herself from the wall and taking off down her hallway. She slid round the corner to her left, smiling in relief.

But he was coming back. She could hear him stomping. He was not happy. She turned once more and ran to the end of the short passageway to the door. She flung it open and turned to bolt it – before she realized how useless that was. She left the door unlatched and sprinted up the staircase.

It curved to her right violently. After just a few moments of going up and round, up and round, up and round, her balance began to falter. It was as though she had forgotten how to _not_ be moving in that direction. The steps were short and shallow, and she was careful not to misstep. Not only could she tumble back down and probably kill herself, but he might catch her.

She wasn't sure which prospect was more terrible.

She finally burst out of the door at the top, her chest heaving. She knew that the North Keep was the tallest turret, spiking bravely a couple hundred feet up into the mountain sky. She wasn't going to go that high. She had never liked heights, and the panoramic view from her third floor bedroom window was high enough for her.

She didn't want to think about which unearthly floor she was currently on.

But suddenly she heard a slapping sound. It sounded like a boot on stone. And it also sounded like it was coming from the very top step. She cursed and turned towards the other door in the small room. More stairs. She moaned and ran for the door.

She ran up the next flight. But it was different this time. She felt very strange. It took her a few moments to work out what was making her feel so weird.

Adrenaline.

She was…having fun? Having fun being chased around the creepy enchanted by the homicidal, psychopathic _ghost_? Had she _completely_ lost it?

Her lips curved into a smile. She felt a new burst of energy and quickened her pace up the winding stairwell. This _was_ fun. She couldn't remember the last time she had had this much fun.

Suddenly she burst out of the door at the top of the stairs. And her feet dug sharply into the stone floor, her arms flapping madly as she fought to regain her balance. Her heart pounded violently as she looked down over the tiny balcony down to the death drop over the side of the castle.

Her throat constricted painfully, she backed away from the edge, back to the relative safety of the door. The fear subsided, and she took a deep breath. She couldn't hear him coming up the stairs, but knew that he was probably floating intangibly up through them. She didn't have much time.

And then she had none. He suddenly appeared in and dwarfed the doorway, his hands cockily on his hips, his black cloak falling to cover up most of him. She gulped nervously, that enjoyable smile back tingeing her face. She took a step sideways, her hands clasped behind her back.

He wore a very strange expression. He looked as though he was desperately trying to restrain a smile and not faring well. His face was strained; his eyebrows down low over his viridian eyes, while the corners of his mouth were turning upwards.

"Thief," he growled, his voice laced with laughter.

She shrugged, grinning. "Hey, you're the one who tried to put me in _pink_."

She had intended that sentence to come out menacingly. Angrily at least. But she had sounded more teasing than anything. She scowled at herself.

He smiled, catching her off guard. She had thought he would avoid doing that at all costs. This man was incredibly annoying. Every time she made a deduction about him he had to go and disprove it.

"Alright Sam," he continued. She was just about to correct the nickname – but she suddenly realized she had become quite fond of it, and let it pass.

"I'm going to give you ten seconds to apologize. Ten,"

_What? Is he crazy? I'm not going to apologize! _

"Nine."

_If anyone should say they're sorry it should be him! _

"Eight."

_He started this whole thing! _

"Seven."

_I wonder what will happen if I don't apologize. _

"Six."

_Will he really kill me? Actually, somehow… _

"Five."

_I don't think so. But something tells me it won't be pretty. _

"Four."

_Do I really want to wait and see? _

"Three."

_Uh, that'd be a 'no'. _

"Two."

She looked around her, for an escape route. She spotted in that split second a ledge jutting out a few feet from the bottom of the balcony. If she could land on that she could walk across and get into the lower turret, escaping back into the castle. It was an easy jump – she couldn't miss.

"One."

He lunged for her, arms outstretched. She showed him a scheming grin and turned, slipping slightly across the balcony to increase her speed. She jumped deftly onto the balcony edge, ignoring her fear and the plummeting drop beside her, tensing her muscles, preparing to make the few foot leap onto the ridge.

She released the strain in her legs, letting them lengthen behind her, then pulling them back up close to her torso, landing as agilely as a cat on the jutting ridge, her legs bent beneath her, her arms out to her sides. She stood.

And then her foot slipped. The tile she had landed on broke free of its mortar with a crack. It slid out from under her, clattering down the roof. She only had a few seconds to watch its tumbling fall down the mountainside before she joined it. Her legs flew up from underneath her and she was launched off the side of the roof.

Her whole body felt as though it had evaporated. Her freefall caused the strangest sensation of weightlessness. Her gut began to twist with fear. Suddenly her weight seemed to return, and she was painfully aware of plummeting past floor after floor.

She closed her eyes, unknowingly squeezing a tear of fright out of the corner as her hair whipped around her face in the torrent of wind engulfing her.

Suddenly she felt an iciness slide underneath her knees, and into the small of her back. The one on her back slid up, tightening and pulling her into a small, quaking mess against another icy surface.

She was so afraid. She was nervous. She was worried about whether or not she was alright. Wait. Those weren't her emotions.

They were Phantom's.

She was now confusing his emotions for her own? Her brain was too traumatized at that exact moment to reflect further on that. She curled deeper into the security she had found.

Her head suddenly popped up. She was staring directly into two concerned green eyes, his worry clearly readable in them. In the next couple of seconds she registered that she was curled tightly against his wide chest, his shoulders drawn together to cradle her body along with his arms that were bent and sliding along the far side of her; that she was not dead; and that they were floating in midair, the fourth or fifth floor of the castle looming beside them.

"Sam, are you alright?"

She cleared her throat. "Y-I'm fine. Thank you – for catching me."

"Why – did you think I'd let you fall?"

"No, I just didn't really think that you could fly. I mean, I knew you floated, but I never really realized that…um…." She trailed off, starting to curse herself.

He smiled down at her. It was right then that she noticed exactly how close she was pressed to him, how far into his chest she had subconsciously buried herself, and how close their faces were.

Wait. Was she….

Worried, she drew her head back and broke his gaze, fixing her eyes on the buttons of her – his – shirt. "I-I missed dinner."

She heard him suck in air resignedly. It shocked her – Phantom _never_ breathed.

"Alright."

He flew her back to the castle, phasing them through the wall. He set her down gently on the rug in the center of her room, allowing her to back away from him, her left arm coming up across her body to hug her right, that little nervous gesture he had noticed her employ before down in the labyrinth.

"Sam, I…" he stopped; unsure of what exactly it was he wanted to say. He sighed, letting out that breath he had taken a few minutes before. "I'm glad you're alright."

She pursed her lips and nodded. He returned the gesture, then turned to leave the room. But he suddenly felt a slight, butterfly touch on his hand. Her skin was so warm – he loved touching her. But he knew that she wasn't really feeling him, when he saw that her hand had been phased right through his, as if he wasn't even there.

He drew his hand back and took hers, her warmth seeping into him once more.

"Phantom?" she whispered hoarsely. She took a few steps towards him, closing the gap. Their chests were mere inches from each other, and he looked down at her, while she seemed to have fixed her eyes on the emerald clasp of his cloak.

She breathed in deeply below him, shuddering, then exhaled. The hot air brushed against his chest, and he closed his eyes. Why did he love being near her so much?

Her voice was low, and her lips stuck slightly to each other when as she pressed them together. "Goodnight, Phantom."

Then she turned away. She hated touching him She had practically said so herself. He should have known. He should have realized that she was never going to see him as anything more than a monster. He should just give up – let her leave, let her go, free them both.

But he couldn't. He needed her.

**

* * *

please review!!! will make update come faster!!!**

FunkyFish1991 xXx


	10. Ball

**A/N - ya know my disclaimer by now :)**

**sorry for the long update wait - i did say it would be a while :s sorry again. i'm working as fast as i can (when not revising or recovering from my eight hour solid exams. hell. just, hell. dont even go there) OMG it's almost midnight. and i have exams tomorrow!!! you see how kind i am to you for not making you wait another day at my own expense!?!?!?!**

**;) tee hee**

**btw i wanna say thanks so much to all my reviewers!!! if i dont reply to your review it doesnt mean i dont care!!! it just means i have no time :(**

**btw2 ive done a** **front cover for Phantasy. I dont have a scanner so its a manipulated photo but still alright. if you wanna check it out its here; ****http:// www . deviantart . com / deviation / 55401131/**** - remove the spaces. if that doesnt work (cause they never do for me, but i'm a computer retard, so...) my deviantart account is FunkyFish1991. original, no? lol.**

**chapter nine!!! plot progression + fluff!! does it get any better:D**

* * *

**_Nine_**

* * *

"My, this town hasn't changed much in one hundred years," he mused to himself, walking down the crudely paved street, looking from side to side at the neat, yet rustic buildings and stores flanking him. Wooden signs swung nonchalantly in the light wind. Snow had settled on the outskirts of town, but most of it in the center had been melted, and what was left was a grayish slush on either side of the street where neither the carriages nor the pedestrians ventured. 

He looked around him, searching for the almost-forgotten tavern from so long ago. Would it even still be standing? Suddenly he saw it in front of him and to the right.

"How fortunate." He grinned, straightening his jacket. He took off in the direction, walking with his back straight and with an elegant flair that could only be achieved from being of a high rank in life.

He had learned a spell in his travels around the world as he researched the curse that allowed him to mask his true features. His black hair had been converted to a silver grey, gathered at the nape of his neck. His red eyes were covered to some extent, leaving only the irises scarlet and giving him a far more human appearance. His ghostly, almost blue-tinged skin was now a normal, if pale, tone, and he had changed into a jacket, trousers, waistcoat and shirt outfit that he had bought abroad.

If he did say so himself, he looked quite the debonair gentleman.

He entered the tavern and immediately scanned for possible morons to manipulate. He needed a mob, and he knew that humans always mobbed when they were a mixture of afraid and angry. He needed someone who he could dupe into believing that the gormless teenager who had been living up on that mountain for nigh on a century would suddenly attack them.

He needed to find a real idiot.

He looked around him. They all looked like stupid country folk to him, but there was one who stood out above the others. He sat in the corner with a group of friends, though he seemed to dominate them. Good – that probably meant he had a certain amount of leverage over these people. He had blond hair, and everything about him, his posture, his facial expressions, his whole demeanour called out that he was spoiled, conceited and above all – moronic.

Perfect.

He walked nearer to the table of young people suavely, almost unnoticeably. He could now hear their conversation.

"I'm telling you, she's just hiding in that house."

"Why would she, I mean – she has the chance to marry me and she'd rather stay in that rickety old house with her creepy old uncle?"

"Well everyone says she's a total freak."

"Yeah, Dash – why do you want to marry her?"

"Because my father's making me."

"Well, say no!"

"Do you have any idea what people would think of me? No, I will marry Samantha Manson, and then I'll ignore her until the day she dies."

"Excuse me, gentlemen, ladies," he made himself known. The six sets of eyes around the table snapped accusingly to him

"What do you want?"

Vlad dipped his head to mask the fury that shot through his features at the man's bigoted impudence.

"May I ask, what does this girl, Samantha, look like?"

The blond shrugged annoyingly. "Black hair, weird eyes, wears black most of the time we see her. Why?"

_Yes, she sounds like the girl with Phantom_, he mused. _And she is this buffoon's betrothed? This gets better and better. _

"I have news of your betrothed."

The young man leapt from his seat and strode the short distance to the older man. He was on level with him, and glared into his face.

"What?"

"She has been kidnapped."

As he wanted, hushed whispers and shocked gasps swept through the people in the tavern who were listening intently to their town's most eligible bachelor's conversation with the richly dressed man they did not recognize. Curiosity was certain to abound.

The buffoon seemed taken aback. "Sh-she what?"

"She has been kidnapped – by a ghost."

He listened, pleased, to the new round of circulating whispers, louder and more worried this time. Humans were such fretful beings.

"K-kidnapped? By a g-_ghost_?!"

Vlad resisted the urge to grab this infuriatingly dense young man by the lapels and shake some backbone into him.

"Yes, but we can get her back." He turned to the room, playing to the crowd. "We can save her. The ghost that has taken her lives up on the mountain," he lifted his cane to point out of the window, where far in the distance, hazily outlined against the sky, the castle on Amity Mountain could be seen.

Another round of gasps circulated the tavern.

"All we need to do is storm the castle and retrieve the girl."

"Oh, is that all?" One of the men spat across the room at him. "And what about this _ghost_, huh? What about him?"

"You may leave the ghost to me," Vlad replied, unaware of neither his head dipping slightly nor his voice lowering menacingly. "We have unfinished business."

"But what if it hurts us?"

Vlad's attention snapped angrily back to the ridiculous excuse for a man that stood before him, his whole posture hunched and nervous. Were all boys nowadays this cowardly?

"He-it, won't be–"

"Yeah!" Another person echoed. "What if you can't kill it and it comes after us?"

"Too risky!" Someone yelled.

Negative words began to shoot through the room now, the humans refusing to do his bidding. His plan had – failed? They weren't going to do what he wished? He felt fury building up inside him.

"Very well, then," he whispered to himself, restraining his anger while still in eyesight of practically the whole male population of the town, striding from the tavern and crossing the street to punch into a wall between two buildings. He uncurled his fist and inspected his unblemished knuckles.

"Very well. I shall have to come up with a new plan."

Back in the tavern, sitting at the bar, silently contemplating the handle of his beer mug, a brutish, brown-eyed man had listened to the whole event with a certain interest.

* * *

She rubbed her hand back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, a repeated motion that for the moment, was dominating her world. The rag she pressed against the floor was periodically dipped in the water bucket, wrung out, and set back to the gleaming tiling. 

She finally sat back on her heels and surveyed the room around her. The ballroom had always been the most beautiful room in the whole castle. Gold sconces alighted every wall, ornately wrought and glowing with five or seven candles each. They were not lit, but when they were, their romantic gold light illuminated the entire vast room – aided of course by the enormous chandelier that hung from the ceiling, practically dripping diamonds and majestically overseeing the revelries that had once gone on below.

The walls were gold leaved, but painted with images of a mythical garden, fruit trees and waterfalls and rolling autumn hills making the room feel warm and safe, while grand at the same time.

The floor was tiled with white marble; gold runners skirting the outlines of the room around the walls. It positively gleamed. In fact, thanks to Jazz and her cleaning team, the whole room did.

She had walked in there haplessly two days before and when she had seen the heinous state of the once-glorious room she had actually shrieked. Dust had covered everything, cobwebs stretching impudently over the whole room. Everything was dull and dark.

And so had begun the cleaning. It had been two almost solid days, and she was pretty sure they were now done. Even the ceiling had been cleaned – though for ghosts who could fly, in comparison to humans, who obviously could not, this was not saying much.

She looked around the spotless room proudly. She stood and dusted off her knees, smoothing her dress. One mission down.

The more dangerous one to go.

She phased quickly through the castle, ending up outside the East Wing bedroom. She sighed and raised her hand to knock on the door. She listened to the faint tapping of her own knuckles against the thick, paneled wood.

No reply.

She sighed once more. Sam had become something of a recluse since the events involving her new wardrobe being ruined – and her incorrigible brother's part in those events – of almost five days ago. She came down to eat, but did not talk unless it was completely necessary. She quite often slink down and out to tend her garden, but since none of them but Danny could go outside she was always alone there.

It wouldn't even take a complete idiot long to figure out something was wrong with her. Only she didn't know what it was. And she intended to find out.

She knocked again. She liked the girl. She had liked her spunk – for want of a better word. Her sarcasm was a little much at times, but upon reflection, Jazz had realized that her weird attitude was still positive, and a positive outlook on _anything _was something this castle had desperately needed. She was good for everyone. And then of course there was the fact that her brother was incredibly fond of her. He liked her. He liked talking to her. He would never admit it, but she knew it was true. And since that incident with the clothes and Sam had stopped showing her face around, Danny had been acting strangely as well.

Well, not strangely. Just more like the way he acted before the arrival of the girl. Resolved, reclusive and resigned. Just a shadow.

There was still no answer from inside. Her stomach clenched. Had she run away again? Was she half-way home by now? Or was she hurt?

She quickly phased through the door, but halted rapidly with a start of surprise. Sam was sitting in the middle of her bed, curled into a small, protective ball. Her head was bent down over the folded arms resting on her drawn up knees. Jazz thought she was crying.

Her heart swelled and she floated over to the girl with a foreign inflow of affection. It was right then that she realized just how deeply she cared for this girl. How much she needed her.

"Sam?" She asked, brushing some of the black hair from the hidden face in a distinctly motherly gesture.

Her head rose sharply, as if she had not been aware of the other girl's presence in the room. And maybe she hadn't been.

"Jazz?"

She wasn't crying, Jazz realized. She just looked upset. Incredibly upset. The redhead slipped onto the bed before the other girl, her hand comfortingly on her exposed foot.

"What's wrong, Sam?"

"Nothing." She turned away, her voice cracking slightly with her lie. "I, I don't…"

"Relax, Sam." Jazz coaxed her gently.

She took a shuddering breath. Her voice sounded choked. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to go. I can't be here anymore. I _have_ to leave."

Jazz was stunned. She had thought that she had been warming up to life here. And now it was completely ruined because her _infuriating_ brother had gone and pulled that ridiculous prank with all her clothes.

No. Wait. Not all of them. Her mind drifted back to the one garment that Star had managed to complete before her idiot brother had interfered.

"Alright."

"Wh-what?" Sam sounded almost as shocked as she looked.

"I'll see what I can do about getting you out of here."

"But, I thought you didn't want me to leave. You get all weird when I go anywhere near a door."

Jazz cringed. "Yes, but I can tell you are suffering here."

Sam started mumbling. Jazz only caught the phrase 'not really _suffering'_, and could pretty much piece together her sentiment from there. It was quite promising.

"But first, you have to attend the ball tomorrow night."

"Ball? What ball?"

"You know? The ball tomorrow night. That we've been planning for ages. For everyone in the castle. We've been planning it for ages. You've been locked in your room for so long. I guess you didn't hear about it."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Um, alright. I guess I can go." She looked away. "Will, will Phantom be there?"

Jazz couldn't figure out from her tone which answer she would prefer to hear. So she decided to just tell the truth. "Yes."

She could have sworn a smile flickered across the girl's face when she heard her reply, but it was gone, and she may have imagined it.

"Alright. But, I don't have anything to wear." She gestured to her black shirt and breeches which looked oddly familiar to Jazz.

She smiled and patted Sam's arm. "Don't worry, I've taken care of that!"

Sam nodded, then returned to her previous position, the hunched ball that she had been in when Jazz had entered. It was an obvious signal that their discussion was over.

Jazz rose and phased out of the door. Downstairs she went – to tell the rest of the inhabitants of the castle about the ball they were going to plan and attend tomorrow night.

* * *

The first Danny heard of this ball was when Tucker burst into the West Wing drawing room and announced himself with the news. 

"What!?" Danny asked, shocked and angry. What was his ridiculous sister doing now? Couldn't she tell that he was _not_ in the mood for a ball? He wasn't even in the mood to leave his _wing_.

"Yeah, and Jazz says everyone has to go. Even you." _Especially you_, he added silently to himself, recalling Jazz's retelling of her plan to him. "And, Jazz wants to talk to you about something."

"No." Danny crossed his arms and scowled. "I _refuse_ to go."

* * *

All of the sconces had been lit. Each of the hundreds of candles in the chandelier were glowing, the light shimmering through the diamond chains and sending rainbow light scattering across the enormous room. 

It was dark outside – the only light coming from the glowing moon which was at that moment obscured by silver clouds. The visible sky was a silky dark navy, a few stars sparkling through to watch the proceedings below.

All the double glass doors around the sides of the circular room were wide open, letting the unseasonably warm breeze flit in and neutralize the heat of the candles. Spring was just beginning.

The room was already quite crowded. All the inhabitants of the castle had paired up to go to the ball, and all their best clothing had been produced. The poorer servants with no dresses were wearing some of Jazz's old ones from before. The men were all in dress clothes also, and they all cut strange figures – all these ghosts wearing one hundred year-outdated occasion wear and dancing to a band consisting of the old quartet. And though they had not performed in so many years, the musicians had regained their skills quickly and were playing beautiful dances for the reveling ghosts to twirl to.

In the hallway outside, Jazz, Tucker and Valerie awaited the arrival of the unofficial guests of honor. Jazz wore an elegant gown with a sky blue bodice and a deep blue skirt. White lace spread across her shoulders and chest, becoming loose sleeves over her arms, and a delicate detail on the bodice of the gown. Two long earrings framed her face, the blue gems peeking out from under her piled hair, tendrils bobbing around her face gently.

Valerie's gown was obviously of less quality, a deep crimson with red detailing. It was modest and lovely, her cream elbow gloves complimenting it perfectly. Jazz had insisted that she borrow her pearl earrings. Her hair was mostly down, with one long tendril from the front curled up and pinned back with Jazz's pearl slide.

Tucker was wearing brown, though it was a dark, rich color, and his shirt was a bright white. He had forgone his flat red cap, allowing the others a view of his tightly curled, dark brown hair.

Jazz was worried Sam would not appear, while Valerie was more concerned about _Danny_ remaining in his room. Tucker just did not want to enter by himself. It was an unwritten rule that none may enter the ballroom alone.

Suddenly there was a tap on the stairs. All three heads snapped towards the sound, Jazz's a little more slowly; conscious of her hair. It was Danny. Though he was still wearing all black, he had forgone the cape. He wore black coattails with a black shirt and thick necktie, black trousers and boots to finish off the outfit.

"Danny," Valerie smiled. "You look very handsome."

"You think so?" he asked nervously.

Jazz grinned and floated over to kiss his cheek. "You do."

Then there was a silence. They could hear the noise coming from the ballroom – the laughing and the music and the chatter.

Danny presently coughed. "Why are we standing out here?"

"You can't go in alone." Jazz said, rolling her eyes.

He looked at them. "I see two guys and two girls. How does this not work out?"

"You have to go in with your love!"

Danny gave Tucker a strange look. "My wh–"

And it was right then that they all heard a second tapping coming from the staircase, and all eyes turned to it once more.

Sam walked gracefully down the steps, holding her dress up and her back proudly. Her hair was partially gathered at the back of her head, purple slides holding it in place elegantly. Her dress cut squarely across her chest, exposing her shoulders and throat. A small silver pendant hung around her neck.

Her dress was floor length, black, but with purple stitching and detail. A purple silk belt was wrapped around her waist, two long strips of extra fabric falling down the front of her dress. The sleeves were tight from her upper arms to half way down her forearms, where the fabric split and fell far past her hands, almost to her knees.

She wore some sort of darkener around her eyes and a dark red rouge on her lips. It contrasted with the pale hue of her skin, and made her glow almost as truly as all the others in the castle did.

Tucker whistled appreciatively, Jazz clapped her hands together, and Valerie nodded approvingly. Though Danny's face revealed nothing, his gazing, adoring eyes spoke worlds.

She reached the bottom of the steps and walked over. It was then that their carefully timed, yet wonderfully simple plan swept into action. Tucker stuck out both arms, the two original ladies taking them, and the trio marched into the ballroom before Danny and Sam even realized they were moving – and the smile on Tucker's face as he entered the ball with one beautiful lady on each arm was priceless.

When Sam moved over there and realized that the other three had mysteriously disappeared, she was incredibly close to turning on her heel and stalking right back up to her bedroom.

Until she saw Phantom. Without the cloak he looked less frightening, less domineering. His impromptu haircut strangely suited him well, though it looked as though he had not bothered to brush it for the occasion. He still looked pale, but she noticed that much of the gauntness that he been in his face when she had arrived had gone, though she knew he hadn't eaten anything.

Strange.

She stopped right before him. Neither said anything, but Phantom almost immediately bowed low before her and held out his arm. She held her dress with one hand and hovered the other gently over his, as close as she could get without her hand passing through him and freaking her out again. They entered the ballroom, and silence settled over all the people in the room. Everyone stared.

And then the string quartet on the slightly raised stage began playing a slow melody, and everyone seemed to move away from the center of the room. Phantom led her over, and then they stood in the starting position – her hand hovering just over his shoulder, his left taking her other, and his free hand coming around her waist.

And then they started moving. He led her skillfully, and even though it was a very old dance she did not know, she moved as fluidly as he. He pushed her away from him and she swirled out gracefully, her newly freed arm flying elegantly out to the side, her skirts echoing the motion. Then he pulled her back in to his chest and they began moving together again. He turned her before him, her dress swirling majestically around her legs as a small smile passed across her lips.

Far too soon, the music stopped. They came to a standstill. She was slightly out of breath, but he just gazed down at her.

"I need to talk to you," he whispered. She nodded. He slipped his hand into hers, turning and leading her out of one of the double doors and onto the stone balcony outside. The couple was unaware of everyone else in the room not dancing – eagerly watching them depart together.

He led her to the edge of the balcony; where towering stone holders let multicolored, timidly blooming flowers drape down before them. He wrapped his right arm around her waist, his left hand coming across her stomach to clasp her opposite hand. He lifted them both, and they soared over the edge of the balcony towards her gardens.

He flew them over the maze, and they landed gently in the center, where a white stone fountain trickling with crystal water rested, surrounded on three sides by white stone benches. Tall hedges encircled them, and the castle could not be seen over them.

They were alone with the stars.

Phantom took her over to the bench, and they both sat. She shivered slightly when the cool of the stone seeped through the material of her dress, but Phantom didn't even notice it.

"You aren't happy here?"

He sounded so vulnerable. And in that split second, with that simple question, Sam had to analyze herself further than she had ever had to before. And what she found surprised her mind – but not her heart.

"I am. I am happy. I just…I miss seeing you. You're always in your room now, and I'm, I guess I'm bored without you."

That was not the answer he had been expecting.

"But, I-I thought you hated me."

"Why?"

"Because you act like I repulse you every time I touch you. Like you hate being around me, touching me."

"I don't hate touching you, Phantom. I can't. And it frustrates me. At first…whenever our skin made any kind of contact you, you hurt me. And I don't understand how. It was like all your hate, and anger turned into energy and shot into me. When you caught me in your room that first time – i-it felt like I was going to die."

He hadn't expected that either.

"I…I'm sorry."

She waved her hand dismissively. "It isn't your fault. It's the curse's."

"What curse?"

"Oh, not you too. I'm not stupid, Phantom."

"Danny."

She fell silent.

"What?"

He looked into her amethyst eyes heatedly. "My name is Danny."

She sounded strangely strangled.

"Oh."

He had a name. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Suddenly it made him seem more human to her. Everyone knows that as soon as you name something you become attached. And she was already attached. She didn't want to think about how she felt about the ghost now.

_He's a ghost. He's a_ ghost_! You shouldn't feel like this for a dead guy – it's just weird! It's creepy! But… he's just so unlike any _living _man I've ever met. He actually listens to me, and he treats me like a person instead of like a 'woman', and he doesn't mind that I prefer to wear men's clothes, and he knows how it feels to have people see you as a freak and… _

_He's so handsome. Oh I know I shouldn't be thinking it! It's so wrong…but…. _Her eyes were fixed on his face, tracing every curve, every line; every inch that she was so familiar with. It may have been unnerving – had he not been doing the same thing.

And suddenly he leaned down. She closed her eyes, and the sensation tingled through every fiber of her body as his lips touched hers. She could distantly feel his emotions; his nervousness; his longing; his affection. But was affection really the right word for the burning feeling he was sending into her?

His lips brushed tenderly across hers, and she found herself leaning up against him. And her hands came up. She had forgotten that she couldn't touch him. Incapable of thought, she lifted them up before her unconsciously. And pressed them against his chest. And caught in the moment, she didn't register that she was actually feeling his cool body underneath her trembling fingers. It felt too right for her to think it was strange.

His hand came behind her hair and curved around the slope of her neck, his thumb tracing across her throat. Her own hand slid up so her arms could wrap themselves around his neck.

Eventually he pulled back, staring down at her, his heart beating for the first time in almost one hundred years. His eyes suddenly caught on the necklace hanging across her chest. His hand came up to touch it, and he lifted the silver weight so that it rested on the tips of his forefingers.

"Wh-where did you get this?" He asked her.

She let her hands trail down his upper arms to hold his forearms. "It was found among my mother's possessions. Why?"

"My mother had a necklace just like this." His voice was almost a whisper. He moved his fingers so that he could pry it open. But it was stuck.

"We couldn't get it open," she informed him quietly, watching his face.

"No. It never did."

He let the necklace fall back down onto her skin, and traced his finger up the chain to the side of her neck. "I'm glad you're happy here, Sam."

"I am." Her heart caught as she lied to him. "Only…"

"Only, what?"

"My father. I didn't get to say goodbye – and I miss him. I want to see him, even if it is just one more time."

He looked at her, though her gaze was on the flowerbed behind the bench. "I can show him to you."

Her eyes met his once more. "You can?"

He nodded. He lifted his hands in front of him. They began to glow a very pale green, almost white, and the glow finally detached itself from them. It swirled into the air in front of him, moving and twisting and becoming more substantial. The gentle mist finally cleared and a small, glimmering crystal floated in the space between his fingers.

He grabbed it in his right hand and let it rest on his palm. Her eyes were fixed, wide, on the crystal he held. He offered it to her, and her hand tentatively came out to touch it. He rolled it onto her palm.

"It will show you anything – anything you want to see."

She cleared her throat, feeling a little stupid to be talking to an inanimate object. "Please, show me my father?"

A glow appeared in the center of the crystal, and a beam of light shot out of the top a few inches into the air. It fanned out and became an image.

And Sam's heart stopped.

Her father was lying in the basement – the basement she knew so well. His hands and feet were tied, and he was blindfolded. His cheeks were hollow, and he was filthy in the dark pit. He suddenly started hacking agonizingly. Each rasp of his throat cut into her stomach like a blade.

"Father!" She gasped. "My uncle – he's put him in there! He could have been there for days! I have to help him!"

Danny turned away from her broken face, his chest wrenching. He couldn't let her go. He needed her. How could he watch her leave after realizing that she was the reason he needed to carry on? That she was the one who would save everyone he cared about from the curse's ultimatum? That she had given him back what he was before, and so much more than that?

That he loved her.

"You must go to him."

She looked up from the crystal, her beautiful eyes wide. "Wh-what?"

"Help him – he needs you."

Her teeth moved over her bottom lip. "Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you so much!"

She rose, him following, and enveloped him in a feverish embrace. He leaned into her, his arms wrapping as far around her tiny frame as they could go. His face was buried into her hair, somehow knowing that this was the last time he would ever see her.

When she pulled away he felt colder even than he had been for the past ninety-nine years and ten months. It seemed like such a short time – and the few weeks that Sam had been there felt shorter still. They were over.

He watched her running through the maze, unable to follow her.

She was leaving him.

He couldn't hear her footsteps anymore.

She was going back.

He couldn't watch her go. But if he didn't – how could he believe it was true? He suddenly rocketed up into the air, soaring up and through the walls of his cursed castle, landing on the balcony of the tall tower that was his room. Her horse, with her astride it, was thundering down the mountainside, the gate shut behind them.

She was gone.

An unearthly howl pierced the night, echoing down the mountains, ricocheting through the valleys, slicing through the trees. Everyone down in the ballroom froze. Far down the mountain, the sound cut through the chest of a black-clothed girl on a galloping horse, but she did not turn towards the castle she left.

If she did, how could she ever turn back?

And past her, down in the village, two lone men in opposite ends of the town looked up – their cruel brown and red eyes glittering with interest at the pain the wail carried.

* * *

**aw. poor danneh. please review!!!!!!! i need happiness after a full day of solid exams :'(**

**(lol notice the incredibly subtle sympathy ploy?)**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	11. Confrontation

**A/N - DP et _Beauty and the Beast_ n'est pas mine :)**

**sorry for the long update time - but this chapter turned out longer than I expected it to be**

**hope it's okay!!!**

* * *

**_Ten_**

* * *

Mussed and completely out of breath, Sam threw her body off of her horse. Not bothering to even lead the animal into the stables, she left it in the driveway in her dust as she ran as fast as she could to the front door. She pressed the handle down and felt the door give in before her. 

She darted through the doorway and sprinted through the dark, empty house. She skidded around a corner, her feet sliding far out in front of her as she tried to slow herself in Jazz's ridiculous heels. The rest of her hair fell out of its clasp at the sharp motion.

She ripped the old oak door open and, ignoring her fear of the horrible place that she knew so very well, scurried down the steps into the blackness. At the foot of the wooden staircase she paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimness.

And then she could see him. Her father was curled up on the grey stone floor just off the center of the room, his knees drawn up to his body, his arms twisted uncomfortably behind his back and bound tightly with a thick rope. Her fingers stroked unconsciously against the fading scars on her own wrists that were inflicted by that very rope as she took a timid step forwards into the place that embodied her hell.

She swallowed her rising terror and flew to his side, falling to her knees. She pried open the loosened knot around his wrists, then rolled him gently onto his back. His eyes were lidded and rimmed with black. His lips were cracked, his face unshaven. His hair was matted and covered in filth from the basement floor.

She chewed her lip in anger as she brushed her fingers across his face.

"Father?"

His eyes flickered weakly. "S-Samantha?"

His voice was cracked and rough from lack of water.

"Yes, it's me. Don't worry, father; I've come to get you out of here."

She swept her arms under his armpits, and dragged his ungainly form across to the steps. She didn't think she could lift him, but she knew she had to try. She put one arm under his knees, and the other under his back, the way Phantom – Danny – had held her. But she could only barely lift him. There was no way she would be able to get him up the stairs.

She frowned, then turned. She pulled his arms over her shoulders, heaving his body onto her back. She groaned under his weight, thin as he was, and put her tiny foot on the first step. She climbed agonizingly upwards. Half-way up the stairs she was beyond exhausted, actually able to feel her strength ebbing away.

When she finally reached the top she collapsed in a gasping heap right there in the doorway, unwittingly allowing her father to fall roughly to the floorboards beside her. She lay there until she heard something that made her whole body tense.

The front door creaked.

She heard his footsteps thumping staggeringly towards her, but was too drained to react. And so when he stood over her, swaying slightly, his hands on his hips, all she could do was blink stupidly up at him.

"Ah, Samantha. So decent of you to return to us."

His voice was heavy with the biting sarcasm that she supposed she had learned from him over the years.

She swallowed her pain and exhaustion and scrambled to her feet before him. Under his bloodshot stare, she could feel the strength and confidence she had been building in herself fade away. The fear was returning.

But with an inner cry, she called it back, feeling it flood through her limbs, into her core and her heart. She called upon the courage of the girl who had taunted the vicious – as she had thought him at the time – ghost, the might of the girl who had, with the help of said ghost, found a place inside herself she had never really thought she had.

Bravery.

Her fists curled at her sides and her shoulders drew backwards. Her frown at him became steely.

"You monster," she hissed.

His glare intensified. "Where have you been, Samantha?"

"Sam." She corrected him automatically. She knew he would not believe her if she told him where she had been – and besides, she wanted to keep that to herself. It was a part of her life in which he had no involvement. She wanted to keep it that way. So she ignored his question.

"I've come to help my father. I will be taking care of him now."

With that she turned her back to him and pulled her now slightly more conscious father up onto his unsteady feet, draping his arm across her shoulders and holding it there.

Philip watched her leave, unsure or not of whether _she_ was actually swaying and reeling, or if that was just his vision swirling again. She wanted to help her father? Fine. He didn't care. But he was not going to let her get away with talking to him like that. Wherever she had gone she had obviously gotten ideas above herself.

She was still under him, and she needed to be reminded of that.

His leather-sleeved arm caught her sharply in the side of the head, and both she and his brother fell silently into an ungainly heap on the floor. He snorted at them both and turned to the staircase, needing some recovery sleep.

* * *

"You did _what_!?" 

Danny winced at both the unearthly note and the ridiculous volume his sister had managed to reach. But he still did not look at her. His gaze was married to the road leading away from his castle, down towards the village.

"I let her go."

He repeated himself. His voice sounded calm – belying the agony burning beneath his skin. He was leaning sideways against the post of the double door leading out onto his balcony, his arms crossed and one leg tucked behind the other. His pose was nonchalant, hiding the sorrow he was feeling.

"B-but, how, you, she, how could you, things were going so, you, you let her _go_?"

Her last word was almost a whisper.

"Danny! How could you?"

Valerie's voice was not as high as his sister's – just loud.

"Dude – I thought you liked her!"

"I do, Tuck. That's why I had to let her go. She needed to leave."

"B-but," Jazz was still unable to complete a thought without stuttering. "You were supposed to talk to her and make her want to stay and fall in love with you and break the spell and now…you let her _go_?"

"Yes, I let her go."

Valerie was giving his back a strange look. Who was this person that they were talking to? It wasn't the grouchy, snappy Phantom that they had grown used to over the past hundred years. And it wasn't Danny – the sweet, naïve boy they had grown up with. Was it someone new – or was it just a shell of the other two? Where was the anger? The fire? The sadness?

Anything.

"Danny?" She interrupted Jazz's spluttering. He did not turn, so she walked over to him and stood to his right. "Do you love her?"

He didn't say anything, but she felt a surge of emotion from him. It gave her her answer.

"Oh, Danny," she sighed, turning away from him to look out over the village in the distance.

The sorrowful faces of all the ghosts in the room mirrored those of every ghost in the castle. A gloom had settled over the whole place that had not been seen since the very beginning of the curse.

It was the realization that their hope was gone.

* * *

_It was twilight. Alone she wandered through the forbidden forest. She refused to listen to her father. There was nothing wrong with the beautiful place as far as she was concerned. _

_The wind rustled her red hair, and she closed her eyes in happiness. Her pink dress swirled around her ankles in the growing wind. _

_The sun was falling further and further each second. Suddenly before her she saw a glint in the ground. She smiled and ran forward. She looked at the object in the dirt, but she couldn't quite make it out. She looked reluctantly at her impeccable hands, then at the dirt surrounding her find. _

_She sighed. The temptation was far too great to resist. She pushed her fingers into the earth, pushing the brown muck aside to lift the object from its place. _

_She straightened back up and cradled the object in her hands. It was a necklace. _

_"Oh, how lovely!" she exclaimed. _

_It was silver, and shaped like a full rose. The edges of the petals were remarkably thin, and the chain was long and fine. It looked expensive, though it was dull and had obviously been out in the forest for quite some time. She picked off the dirt with her fingernails, her eyes wide and her lips curled into a pleased smile. _

_"Now why on Earth are you out here?" She mused out loud, twirling the object in her hand. She suddenly noticed tiny hinges on the side, and moved her fingers to try to open the locket. She could not, but it did not faze her. _

_"An heirloom," she smiled. "I never did have one. Maybe I can pass it on to my daughter. When I have one of course." _

* * *

The sun had just crested the horizon, and golden light swathed the whole countryside. Birds were chirping, and trees were rustling in the tiny breeze that was descending from the towering mountains, far beyond the sleeping town. Spring had come, and flowers were blooming everywhere in a riot of seasonal joy. 

Sam half-lay on the bed. Her father was on it, asleep under the thin, ragged sheets that had once been hers. Her head and arms were up on the mattress, the rest of her body curled up on the floor. She was not asleep, just dozing. Presently she reached up and wiped the cool cloth clutched in her hand across her father's face.

It had been months, and her father was almost fully recovered. She had been feeding him heartily, waiting on him constantly, taking care of him as best she could. She had been inordinately relieved to watch him recover from his ordeal.

Her monstrous uncle had avoided the pair for the most part – although when they did encounter he would not even hesitate before striking her. Bruises and welts crisscrossed her body. She had not left the house in months – sending out servants to get supplies for her and her father. She had immersed herself in caring for her father, not allowing herself to dwell on the home she had left behind – for the enchanted castle had been more of a home to her in those few weeks she had resided there than this terrible place – or perhaps even the house she had lived in with her father all those years ago – had ever been.

But it was in moments like this, when there was nothing else to occupy her time and mind, that her thoughts drifted to that place she had thought she had left behind her.

Right now she was no longer perched on the edge of a bed in a house where every creak and groan of the floorboards and doors made her start in fright. She was in her garden. Not that pathetic collection of flowers under the willow on the path that she had weakly claimed as her own: but the rolling expanses of lawns, and flowerbeds, and trees, and waterfalls, and benches, and that magnificent maze, at the castle on the mountain. She was sitting on one of the white stone benches in front of the waterfall. Her eyes were closed, her pose relaxed, her hair being gently blown about her shoulders by a light mountain breeze.

Someone was beside her. He was comforting and familiar. She felt herself innately drawn to him. She knew it was Phantom – Danny. His fingers were intertwined with hers, and her head was rested against his chest.

She turned her face to look up at him, and the black-haired girl dozing in her bedroom was suddenly shocked out of her reverie by his bright blue eyes.

"Ah!" She gasped, jerking upright. Blue eyes? Had she forgotten him that much?

Suddenly her eyebrows shot up, and she whispered her thoughts to herself. "I was touching him in my dream. I touched him in the garden…how was I suddenly able to feel him?

_But more importantly – do you love him? _Her traitorous mind posed the question that had been gnawing at her since she was left all those weeks ago, no matter how hard she had tried to ignore it. She couldn't answer.

She was afraid of either possible one.

"Samantha?" Her father mumbled.

"Yes, father?"

"Who, who were you touching?"

Samantha's face flooded crimson and she looked down, screaming inside at the incredible innuendo that her father had completely missed.

His face suddenly fell into a frown. "Not that terrible Phantom? Samantha?"

"Sam," she corrected huffily. "And he is not terrible, father."

Her father looked up at the ceiling. "From what I know of him."

She scowled. "So he was not the most congenial of people when you encountered him. So he was incredibly unpleasant and, mildly insane." She winced, realizing the hole she was digging herself, but continued. "After living as a damn ghost for God only knows how long do you honestly think _you_ would be the most amiable soul on the planet?"

"Watch your language Samantha."

"Sam. And my question? Can you really blame him for treating you so cruelly? Do you not think that after years of being rejected and ostracized by everyone who saw you that you would _not_ treat strangers with overwhelming civility?"

Her voice was poisoned with sarcasm, snappy and impatient. Unbeknownst to her, she was in fact scolding herself for her previous opinion of someone she now knew was so much more than anyone in this town.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you cared for this creature, Samantha."

"Sam!" She shouted, rising to her feet. "And he is _not_ a creature! I don't have to listen to this!"

And with that she threw the cloth into his face and stomped from the room. Her back against the door, she huffed silently to herself, her chest heaving. She didn't quite know why she had exploded like that. She slid quietly down the door panel and sat on the ground.

Suddenly she heard a noise outside. It sounded like a banging. On her front door?

Her heart fell into her stomach.

* * *

It had spread around the whole town within minutes that the young Miss Manson had returned home. Rumors as to where she had been were circulating in earnest. It had not been until one of the servant girls from the house on the hill had come down into Amity Park and informed them that Miss Manson had, in fact, been away from home that anyone really came anywhere near to believing what that older man from the tavern had said that night. 

Nobody had seriously considered that she had been missing, and most of the villagers had decided that she had just been in seclusion up at the house. She was certainly weird enough to do something of that vein. But now they knew that she had in fact been away from home.

The old man had been right.

But what did this mean? Did it mean that everything that old man had said was true? Was the ghost on the mountain really now going to attack them?

The more astute among them realized that the beast might attack just to reclaim the prisoner he had lost – though none seemed to realize that the old man may have been lying. Some suggested taking her back to the castle just to appease the spirit. Others thought that if they gave her to him he might begin to take others and expect them not to put up a fight. Nobody cared about the freaky Manson girl – but what of the other women and children in the town?

The plan the old man from the tavern had suggested was beginning to sound more and more appealing.

Meanwhile in the center of the town, there was one man for whom this dilemma held no horror. As soon as he had learned of his _dear _fiancée's return, he had known that it was time for him to claim her. Although he had not believed at first that she had really been kidnapped (or so he had managed to convince himself) he now had a certain wish to marry her before she could disappear, or go into hiding, again.

After all, if he did not marry her his father – and therefore he – would be disgraced. That just would not do. Today was the day. He had already _spoken_ to the priest, and all his friends were ready to accompany him to the house on the hill to claim his bride, right then and there.

All that still needed finishing was the tying of his necktie. He finished and grinned at his handsome reflection in the mirror.

"You lucky girl," he said crossly. "You don't deserve me."

* * *

Sam peered out of the side of the window in the light that was only just beginning to wane. And groaned. 

"Oh no."

Coming up the drive was her _beloved _fiancé and his posse, along with many other people she did not recognize. She swore. And then she noticed the village _priest_! She swore foully.

She glanced behind her through the house. The back door opened out onto the garden, but to get out of the garden she still had to go out the front anyway.

She was trapped.

"Dammit," she hissed, running up the stairs, hoping upon hope that she could just sit in her room and wait until that infernal pest went away. She didn't think she had the strength to get rid of him herself – and over her dead body was she going to marry that moron.

The slamming started again. Her whole body jerked with each knock as she skidded up the stairs. She shut the door to her room and listened. The slamming continued, more earnestly now.

A sudden pang in her stomach prompted her to hurry over to her wardrobe, within which lay a small object, wrapped in a black sash. She unraveled the heavy material, and then she stood completely still, holding the chilly crystal in her hand. She let the sash fall to the floor.

"Phantom," she sighed, her voice almost quivering. "I miss you…"

Inside the crystal she could almost see the stoic face of the ghost of whom she had become so fond. It would be so easy just to say the words she longed to, the words that were all set to fall off of her lips if she let down her control for one second. And she could not do that.

Because if she saw him, there was no way she could stay here and look after her father, still lying asleep on the bed behind her.

Her mouth trembled as the resounding knocking sounded through the house, angrier now. Her control was slipping with her incredible longing to escape this place.

"Sh-show me–"

"I'll get it!"

Her heart stopped, her head jerking up as she heard quick footsteps downstairs moving towards the door on which the blond horror was still banging.

"Anna!" She cried. "No!"

She threw the door open and rushed down the stairs, slipping the round crystal into the cloth belt around her waist. Her bare feet slapped against the wooden steps as she willed herself to go faster. She saw the maid standing just in front of the door.

"Anna!"

Anna turned and smiled. "Don't worry milady, I've got it!"

And with that she unlatched and swung open the door.

"Why, Master Dash," she beamed. "Whatever are you doing here?"

He pushed her out of the way, ignoring her indignant squeal, and grinned at the girl on the stairs, her eyes wide, frozen in place.

"Why, I've come to claim my lovely bride!"

He stormed over to the stairwell and grabbed her arm roughly, glaring into her violet eyes, though his face remained pleasant.

"Before she can _hide_ from me again."

_Hide?_ Ha! Oh how she longed to punch that smug, self-obsessed little weasel in the nose and back to his adoring _whores_ and _idiot_ friends. But there was the problem that he was gripping her arm painfully like a vice. As much as she needed to escape, somehow she could not see that as an option right now.

"What are you doing here, Dash?" She snarled; though the fancy clothing of the crowd and of the cocky little pest gripping her arm, and the presence of the priest, coupled with the statement he had just made, rendered that one of the most redundant things she had ever said. But she was in too much pain to realize.

Dash wasted no time in making her feel idiotic for it.

"My, my. Stupid as well as ugly," he sneered.

"Wow, that's rich, coming from you."

Not one of her finer comebacks, but the best she could come up with as she tried to writhe out of his grip without him realizing she was doing so.

His eyes flashed, and he turned around, dragging her unceremoniously behind him. He stood them right in front of the priest, who did not look best pleased with the situation, and snapped at the poor man.

"Marry us."

The trembling elder made no sound, just looked worriedly at Sam, who was now craning her head to try to bite into Dash's forearm.

"_Now_!"

"Uh, Sir, sh-she does not look like your, um, 'dearly betrothed'."

Sam's head shot up, her mouth open. "He told you _what_?"

Dash snorted. "So I exaggerated. She is mine as surely as if I loved her. Now marry us!"

Sam's own eyes flashed now, with incredible indignation and fury.

"So if you loved me that would automatically make me yours?" She spat, trying once again to wrench her arm from his grip.

"Of course," he deadpanned. He turned to the priest, who was looking less and less happy with each passing second. "_Marry us_!"

The poor man quivered under Dash's yells and opened his mouth.

"D-dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"

Sam stopped listening and looked around her wildly. Escaping from Dash's death-grip was not working. There were precious few other options here.

"I will."

"And will you, Samantha Manson, have this man to be your wedded husband, to live together in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honor him, and keep him, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others keep thee only unto him so long as you both shall live?"

She snorted. "Uh, _no_."

Dash whipped his head to her. He obviously had forgotten that she could do that. She smiled victoriously up at him, knowing she had him there, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Samantha? What's going on?"

All heads snapped up to the balcony of the upper floor, where her father stood, in his raggedy bedclothes; his eyes wide at the strange ceremony ocurring downstairs.

Dash grinned horribly, and turned to one of his friends. "Get him!"

The other young man darted up the stairs and fastened his grip around the arms of the old man: whose eyes were wide, his mouth open in shock, turning him and pushing him before him as they descended back down the stairs. He scooted her father right up to the unhappy couple and then wrapped his thick arm around the sickly man's throat.

Dash turned back to Sam, who was shocked at how low he had stooped. "_Now_, Samantha, will you take me as your husband though sickness and heath and all that crap?"

She gritted her teeth. She didn't know what to do. She looked at her father's wildly fearful face, then at her fiancé's horribly smug one.

"N-no," she croaked out, shaking her head.

Dash's eyes narrowed and he signalled to his friend. The other young man's grip tightened around her father's frail neck as the vice-hand around her own arm dug further into her flesh.

"You won't kill him," she spat at the horrible man in front of her. "You'd go to jail!"

"For killing the village idiot? I think not."

"Th-the village idiot? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, didn't you hear?" His face twisted into a smile. "Your father came into town one night absolutely _raving_ about a twelve foot _glowing _monster…the 'Phantom', I believe? Wasn't it – _Mr Manson_?"

His voice was dripping sarcasm, and Sam grimaced.

"It's true, I tell you!" Jeremy cried, trying not to think about the grip on his neck, wriggling and appealing to the crowd gathered in the downstairs hall. "And Samantha can tell you!" He turned desperately wild eyes to his daughter. "Sammy! There was a beast! Tell them, Sammy! Tell them!"

"There is a Phantom – but a beast he is not." Her voice was quietly low and dangerous.

"Samantha?" Dash said, shocked. "Th-there really is a monster?"

"He is not a monster!" she shouted, exasperated. She was sick and tired of hearing people talk about Danny like that.

"Of course he is."

The voice coming from the back of the crowd was deep and rich, noble and cunning. All heads snapped to the well dressed man moving towards the commotion at the front of the crowd.

"_Excuse_ me?" Sam said, folding her arms, hardly registering that Dash had released her.

"This ghost is a menace to the town!" The man said, speaking to the crowd, practically ignoring Sam. "She is proof! He kidnapped her – and she escaped! But he has some sort of mind control over her! Why else would she not think he was a monster?"

The crowd began to murmur in agreement. Sam gnashed her teeth angrily.

"Who _are_ you?"

He grinned and leaned in closer to her face than anyone besides Danny had ever been allowed.

"An _acquaintance _of Phantom's," he said into her ear, quiet enough so that only she heard him, his breath touching her skin. She pulled back in revulsion. But she was not stupid, and from his tone she could easily figure out that he meant Danny no goodwill.

"If you dare–" she hissed.

"We must make a move!" He turned around, throwing his arms out to appeal to the crowd. "Before that monster – that _ghost­ _– can cause this town any more harm! We must fight!"

For an absolute psychopath who Sam was completely and totally certain was completely and totally wicked, he sure knew how to rile a crowd. The people were shouting concurrence and starting to punch their fists into the air.

"No!" She yelled into the mêlée, pushing the God-awful man aside. "This is wrong! The Phantom is not evil! He means you no harm!"

"Oh yeah?" The grey-haired man said snidely. "Prove it."

_Prove it? _She frowned worriedly. _How?_

Then suddenly her hand flew to her waist, where the crystal was secreted. Before thinking, she pulled out the gem, its reassuring coolness not registering in her mind, and lifted it before her face, flat on her palm.

As she leaned in and spoke to it, the people around her backed away, as if they thought something terrible was going to happen. She had overheard many of them during her infrequent trips into town talking about her as if she was some sort of witch. Well this should give them food for gossip.

"Show me D-Phantom," she whispered, suddenly understanding the strange way the people of the castle had referred to Danny in front of her at first.

The light beam shot out of the top of the crystal, accompanied by shocked gasps and whispers from the crowd. It fanned out and showed Danny.

Only Sam's gasp mixed with the rest of them now.

Danny was slumped in the corner of his room, his white head hanging down over his chest. His knees were bent up, his arms resting on them. When he raised his head to look out of the double doors, his eyes were not glowing. They were completely dulled, shells; hollow and black. His face was gaunt once more; his eyebrows looking as though they had been slanted that way for quite some time. His clothing was mussed and crumpled, as though he had not changed them since she had left.

"Danny," she whispered, horrified, pained. What had happened to him?

Vlad gritted his teeth. _Dammit, the girl has me here. Now what? Think, Masters, think. _

Dash dragged his eyes painfully away from the image, to the face of the exasperating girl holding whatever that creepy thing was.

"Samantha!" He had meant for it to come out as a reprimand, but it ended up as more of a whine. "You have to marry me _now_!"

Her eyes snapped to his, and she closed her fist around the thing in her hand, making the picture disappear.

"I will. Not. Marry you." Her voice was lower than he had ever heard it, her weird purple eyes sparking at him. "Not today. Not tomorrow. Not _ever_. Now _get _out of my _house_!" She dug her palm into the groove of his shoulder and shoved him unceremoniously towards the door. "Get out!" The crowd turned and began to obey her, almost in fear.

Sam, overcome by the pain of seeing her…Danny…like that, fell to the ground, her arms clutched around herself.

"Stop!"

All eyes whipped to the grey-haired man still standing just in front of Sam; everyone stopping before they could exit the house. Nobody was quite sure why they listened to him – but his voice, and his manner, everything about him ordered them to comply: and promised retribution if they did not.

The man walked over to Dash, shaking slightly from Sam's death-glare.

"You have lost your promised," the man said quietly, for Dash's ears only. "You will be humiliated before the entire town." His words caused the young man to tremble and moan faintly. Vlad's hate for the buffoon grew. "Your honor lost. But there is a way you can get it back." Dash's eyes connected with the red ones of the man before him. "This ghost. It is a menace to the town – a danger to all who live here." He grinned internally at how gullibly this boy was soaking up his lies. "But think; just _think _of the honor that the one to take down this ghost would receive. He would be a hero – adored by everyone."

A strange light began to grow in Dash's blue eyes. "Adored…a hero," he muttered idiotically. Vlad was suddenly reminded of an animal. A great, stupid animal, and he almost smiled.

"And all you have to do is lead a mob up to the castle – and kill this 'Phantom'. And your future will be sealed."

_As will mine_, he added mentally, controlling his urge to grin. "So – what do you say?"

Dash's face broke into a grin, and he wheeled to face the crowd, which had begun to mutter amongst itself.

"The Phantom has poisoned the mind of my fiancée!" He shouted, catching their attention. "And no doubt he intends more hurt on this town! I say we kill this monster – once and for all! _Who's with me_!?"

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Fists were punched into the air, and Dash smiled, both of his joining them. He quickly scanned the room and spotted a sword hanging across the mantel in the other room. He strode over to it and ripped it from its moorings, returning to the crowd with it held above his head.

The crowd, still cheering and shouting their support, exited the house and began to move down the street, Dash at their head, and a grinning Vlad bringing up the rear.

Sam was still crumpled on the floor, a dreadful pain beginning to race through her arm from where Dash's fingers had dug deep into her skin. Five blackening welts were appearing in her pale but reddening skin, but her eyes were shut, and she did not notice them.

_Danny, Danny – what _happened_ to you? Was it me? Was it my leaving? I know it sounds so vain but…when you kissed me, I felt…I felt… _

_Love? _

Her head was shaking, the pain in her heart outweighing that in her arm. Suddenly she was aware of her surroundings. Her father had been dropped by Dash's lackey and was collapsed on the floor beside her. And the crowd was moving down the path form her house, screaming about killing the Phantom.

She could see Dash at the front, holding her uncle's sword above his head.

Her teeth bared, she leapt to her feet and ran from the door, leaving her father behind her without even noticing. He had never really loved her. If he had how could he have sent her away to live with his brother?

But someone she knew truly loved her, and as long as she lived she would _not _sit by and watch him be hurt. Especially by her idiot ex-fiancé and his mindless group of followers.

And that grey-haired _demon_.

She ran alongside the crowd, ignoring their shouts and cheers. It was dark now; the last rim of the red sun not visible over the mountains. Stars had crept out, and they watched her as her fast pace drew her right up next to the leader of the mob.

She shoved both palms into the center of his chest, jerking him backwards, the sword flailing behind him. She didn't know if it struck someone – and she did not care.

"Dash I will _not _let you do this!" she shouted passionately, her eyes radiating her hate for him.

"Oh, you won't?" He mocked her. "We'll see about that." He clicked his fingers and pointed at her. She looked at him in disgust. What did he think he was? Some sort of…

Suddenly two big arms wrapped around hers, and they began to drag her. She was thrown into a furious frenzy and began to kick and flail. One of her unshod feet caught the man to her left in the groin, and he dropped to his knees and released his hold on her.

She turned all of her attention to the other one, punching him in the nose, ignoring the terrible pain that shot through her delicate hand and her injured arm. He reeled backwards and dropped other arm.

She wheeled around, but was just in time to watch her almost-husband's head descend to her waist, his large arms hurling her up onto his shoulder. She shrieked in anger and began pounding his back with her fists. But the agony in her arm flared up again, and she had to stop to cradle it. She heard the horrible mocking laughs of the crowd as she was carried back up to her house. They were starting to light sconces as the final light from the unseen sun waned away.

Dash threw her to the ground in her home, on the other side of her father. Her arm was burning now, but she leapt to her feet anyway. She was just about to launch herself at him when something struck her ferociously in the side of her head.

Her tiny dark frame flew back to the ground, and her hair splayed itself all over her face and shoulders. She saw her uncle walk over to Dash, looking worryingly sober, and shake his hand. The two men turned to her and laughed.

Her anger simmered, but the thudding pain in her head and in her arm incapacitated her. She just lay there helplessly. She saw Dash go to pick up her father, and then was vaguely aware of her uncle's corded arms slinging her onto his shoulder. She was taken through the house, and then a door was opened.

She was suddenly flying through the air, and then landed with a jolt on a stone floor. Incredible pain, like nothing she had ever experienced before, seared through her whole body, the throbbing of her head and arm glaring out above the rest. Her vision was swirling, becoming a dark tunnel.

Her father landed beside her, and just before her vision left, just before she lost sight of the two men in the doorway above her, just before she lost consciousness, one last thought shone through her mind.

_Danny…_

* * *

**review!!! please!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**FunkyFish1991 xXx**


	12. Battle

**A/N - nothing you recognize is mine XD**

**sorry again for the looooooong update time :'( one would think that at the end of the year there would be less schoolwork. oh, no. my school has to give us FIVE simultaneous projects to do before the end of the year.**

**btw, in case anyone cares, i got 97 per cent (A star) on my art exam :D yay!**

**anyway, on with the story...**

**

* * *

**

_**Eleven**_

* * *

The sun had fallen hours ago, and the castle was silent – even though none of the inhabitants were asleep. In the kitchen a great number of the staff were just sitting around, tapping spoons on the table, inspecting the row of mugs hanging neatly from the cabinet, humming to themselves, or just staring at the opposite side of the room; as they had been doing for many hours. 

Scattered all over the castle in various rooms further servants sat, lay, or stood silent as the graves they knew they were about to meet.

In the ballroom, slumped against the wall in the corner, Tucker and Valerie were curled up against each other. Though Valerie was not crying, her head was on Tucker's shoulder, and she hadn't seemed to have blinked in quite some time. Tucker was absentmindedly running his fingers through her hair, staring vacantly at the room before him. All traces of the ball of only a few weeks ago were long gone, and the room was once more merely a cavernous space with no particular purpose.

Jazz paced backwards and forwards past them, unable to sit and stay still. Although at first all of them had been running around desperately trying to think of some way to break the spell, not quite able to give up their hope, they had resigned themselves hours ago to just waiting – resigned themselves to their fate.

In the corner of the room, a clock gave them less than two hours to live – each tick shuddering down their spines and reminding them of what was so soon to come; not letting them forget it.

Only two people in the whole mansion were not with anyone else. Danny was up in his tower, as silent as he had been ever since Sam had departed from the castle.

They had all left him alone, unwilling or unable to face him.

And down at the front of the castle Kwan was in the Maroon Room, staring out of the window, through the gates and down the path leading away from the castle. He had grown very fond of their guest, more so than most of the other servants, and he had been one of the most affected when she had left. He refused to give up hope. And so he watched: waiting for her to return to them.

The others in the castle hadn't the heart to tell him that she was just not coming back.

His elbows were resting on the windowsill; his face as close as he could get it to the glass without his nose pressing against it. It was starting to rain outside; tiny dotted lines of water droplets beginning to appear on the glass. It made seeing even harder for him.

Suddenly he blinked. Once his eyes were reopened, and he was certain he had seen what he thought he had, he leapt out of his seat, his nose now crushed against the glass between his hands as he stared at the trail of fiery, bobbing lights ascending the path.

He yelped, knowing that that was _definitely_ not Sam, and turned, sprinting from the room. He ran though the mansion and skidded into the ballroom. He spotted his targets and shot over to them, urgency fueling his speed.

"Jazz!" he shouted, only a few feet from her. His shoes skidded on the polished floor, and he fell awkwardly into the shorter woman's arms. She struggled under his weight while he struggled both with his words, and to get back his footing. "Someone's coming!"

Her baby blue eyes widened. "Sam?" She sounded so hopeful.

"No – lots of people. Dozens. With torches." He panted between words. "They're coming up the mountain! They're almost here!"

"Don't worry, Kwan," Jazz reassured, managing to maintain her calm façade to comfort the frightened man. "Go get the others and tell them to come here."

Kwan nodded and took off at full tilt. Tucker and Valerie had risen by this time, and were looking worriedly at the back of Jazz's head. When she turned, she looked just as afraid as they did.

"Who do you think it is?" Valerie asked nervously.

"I-I don't know. Could you go have a look, Tucker?"

Tucker nodded and ran off to the front of the mansion, Valerie, unwilling to be left behind, right on his heels. He threw open a window and squinted outside, while Valerie stood next to him and cupped her hands against the glass. The mob had reached the front gate, and some of them were rattling the lock. They could just about hear the sound over the intensifying rainfall. Tucker didn't recognize anyone – until he saw a grey-haired gentleman towards the side, looking crossly on at the men at the lock.

_He_ looked _very_ familiar.

"Is that…?"

"It is. We have to tell Jazz."

"It's Vlad – it's Vlad Masters!" Tucker shouted, rocketing through the ballroom doors, back to Jazz, who had now been joined by a great number of the castle staff, whispering nervously amongst themselves. Tucker's comment sent a new wave of frenzied chatter through them.

He and Valerie drew up beside Jazz, who looked shocked by his statement.

"_What_?"

"Yes!"

"_Baron Masters_? Whatever could he want here?!" Valerie snapped angrily.

"I never liked that man," Jazz murmured. "And I'll bet he isn't here to commiserate with us."

"So how do we get rid of him?" Valerie asked crossly.

"If it was just him…" Jazz petered off. Valerie's eyes widened.

"If it was just him, it would be easy. But he's brought all those humans with him – to distract us."

"Or keep us busy."

"He's planning something."

"What?"

"I don't know!" Valerie snapped at the man next to her. "But whatever it is – knowing that vile man, it won't be good. You should hear some of the things I overheard him saying to us servants, and even other guests back when we were…well, you know."

"Well we have to do _something_!"

"We'll fight them."

Tucker and Valerie both jerked their heads to face Jazz. "Are you serious?"

"None of us know _how _to fight!"

"We are ghosts after all – we have an advantage over them. And if we do die, it doesn't matter anyway."

That somber statement, especially coming from the usually cheerful Jazz, reminded the couple of what was impending, and their moods suddenly became very serious.

"If we're going to die anyway," Tucker said quietly, so the others in the room had no chance of hearing. "Why bother fighting him? What's the point?"

"Because we will not let him take us lying down. If this is our last night, it's time for us to make a last stand. What else could we be remembered for?"

Jazz's jaw was tensed, her normally glittering eyes hard and stoic. "Valerie, Tucker, can you tell everyone?"

"Oh, man! Why do we have to be the ones to tell them?"

"What are you going to be doing?"

Jazz was already moving away from the pair, and she ignored Tucker's whine, but turned to answer Valerie.

"Talking to Danny."

* * *

The stars were hidden behind a smudging of clouds – black and looming. The rain was falling fast now; the strange scent entering the turret room along with the droplets. The first few feet of the carpet was soaked and darkened, but as long the wet didn't reach him, he didn't care. 

His head was turned as far away from the rose as he could get it. When he had looked up last – he had no idea how long ago it had been – there had been only two petals left on the rose.

And he knew that if he saw the very last petal clinging on, he might snap. He could hardly handle the _thought_.

His cloak was drawn tightly against his body – more for comfort than for protection against the cold, as he could not feel it. A wind was swirling through the room, billowing out the curtains and rattling the doors. The searing sound was racing through the room at the same time, whistling and whining and piercing.

But he didn't know about any of that.

His eyes were closed, and there in the light before him was a black-haired girl; her back turned to him. The sun was streaming down around her, making her hair and her skin glow a wonderful golden color. The feathery hairs swaying out from the top of her head were back lighted by the sun, and created a warm halo around her. A faint breeze picked up the tendrils of hair across her shoulders and framing her face, waving them casually from side to side. Her arms were gathered against her body, tight into her stomach, her back straight, and her chin up, as if she was staring out into the distance.

Her hand suddenly came out, reaching out to the side, her palm facing downwards and her fingers hanging loosely and carelessly. She turned her torso slowly, her hand coming round, until it was vaguely pointed at him.

Her palm suddenly flipped up, and she looked as though she was reaching out for him, begging her to join him, in a place where he could never go.

"Danny…"

Her head suddenly snapped around to him, and the golden light shining from her face blinded him.

His eyes broke open painfully, his previously dormant heart giving a strange thump once in his chest. He looked around the black room almost fitfully, vaguely noticing that the greenish glow his eyes usually elicited was not present, and that he could hardly see anything – having foregone the lighting of candles when dark had settled over Amity.

What was the point?

His eyes adjusted to the dark, and he rose from his corner, unconsciously stretching his cramped and long-unused muscles. He left his room, traipsing out onto his balcony, his black-booted feet squelching on the puddles gathering mournfully on the stone. He walked right to the edge, and wrapped his hands around the top of the short wall. Within moments his hair and clothing was sodden, water trickling down his face and neck, down into his shirt. He hardly noticed.

Below him, he noticed, with barely a start, there was a great group of people viciously going at the front gate with saws and hatchets, shouting and yelling, their sconces glowing fiercely in the dark night.

After establishing that she was not among them, he fell to just casually watching them destroy the gates.

His door was suddenly eased open, and then he heard his sister's light footsteps tapping across the floor, approaching him silently. He waited for his scolding.

But for once she said nothing, and he returned the favor. Neither spoke for a long while, the clanging of the gates and the loud shouts of the villagers quite audible below, along with the hissing of the streaming rain attacking the roof of the castle all around and below them.

She broke their silence. "I suppose you've seen them then."

He did not reply.

"Why aren't you doing anything?"

He did not reply for a long time.

"What is there to do?"

"Fight!" She sounded mildly shocked. "Fight them, Danny! _Vlad_ is with them."

He contemplated that for a few moments, staring at the stone beneath his feet, before raising his head once more to watch them destroy his gates.

"I never did like that man."

Jazz was quite ready to scream at her brother. "How can you be so callous?! What's the matter with you?!"

"We're all going to die tonight. Why not sooner rather than later?"

Her mouth open, Jazz slipped backwards towards the doorway, shaking her head slightly, unable to break her eyes away from the tall frame of her little brother.

Or was he even that anymore?

She rounded the door, but stopped and leaned around it, her hands curled around the edge, her head leant round, eyes now downcast.

"I love you, Danny. So much. And I'm sorry you've ended up this way." Her voice was a raspy whisper, only just audible over the racket of outside. "But we are not going to roll over and let that man invade our home." She paused. "Danny…"

It was something of a plea, something of a sob, and something of a gasp.

He pursed his lips, and listened to her leave, his thoughts conflicting wildly with each other.

* * *

The armory – if the Fenton ancestors' collection of assorted and mismatched weapons could be called such – had been raided, and most of the ghosts in the castle had now been armed with various different kinds of swords, daggers, maces; and other things that they did not even recognize. 

Jazz had already stressed that the idea was to scare the people away – and only to hurt them if completely necessary. However – Vlad?

Vlad they could kill, if possible.

Most of the ghosts were in the main entrance hall, set up in four defense lines, watching over the front double doors; though some of the ghosts were scattered at the other entrances to the castle, just in case. Several were sitting on the stairs, weapons cradled against them, in preparation for any who made it past the first line.

There was no time to set up and use the fortifications and defenses built into the castle.

A metallic smash suddenly sounded outside. Everyone leapt up, tensing at the sound of the gates either crashing open or crashing over. Frenzied shouts could now be heard in the courtyard, and everyone's hands tightened around their weapons.

The first crack sounded, the noise booming violently through the hall and shaking dust from the rafters high over their heads.

They were trying to break down the front door.

"Remember!" Jazz's voice rang out in the great hallway.

She turned from her place in the center of the foremost line of ghosts, twisting around to face her men. Senses of propriety had understandably diminished over the years, and all were just fellow victims of the curse. Jazz was no longer their mistress – she was their leader. And to her, the people she had lived with for so long and survived with for so long were her family as surely as Danny had once been.

"We only need to scare them away! We can win this, for Danny – and for Sam!"

They all cheered loudly, and Tucker smiled encouragingly at her. Valerie slipped her hand into his, and the trio stared at the door from their positions right before it, shuddering now with each blow the people outside made to the old wood. Jazz turned around again to reface the door, her rapier held ready at her hip, her face set, and her body tensed.

_Boom… _

The metal reinforcements on the inside of the doors creaked and bent slightly in the middle. The people outside were cheering violently now.

_Boom… _

The wood splintered in the center where they were obviously hitting it with a battering ram of some kind.

Jazz looked over at Tucker, then at Valerie, who both nodded.

"Now!"

_Boom! _

The doors gave in, flying backwards and clattering against the stone floor. The people all cheered and poured in; waving what were now recognizable as all manner of dangerous weaponry – from swords to wooden clubs to farmers' scythes.

However, they all stopped dead when they saw all the floating weapons around them. Swords, maces, knives, daggers – even just hunks of metal were hanging in midair. They slowly walked through them in complete silence, the tapping of their feet the only sound in the whole mansion.

Dash's brows were drawn together, his hand tightening around Philip Manson's sword. He walked over to a broadsword hovering just before him, staring at it in a strange blend of fear and curiosity. He brought up his hand to it.

The moment his finger touched it, it suddenly swung round and the broad side of it collided with his skull. His head swirled, and he collapsed to the floor.

"Now!" Jazz shouted again, her voice ringing through the halls, and all the ghosts became visible, much to the horror of their unwanted guests. And, to their further dismay, they began to fight with them. Villagers sparred with ghosts all over the hallway, darting backwards and forwards and knocking into each other clumsily, their swords clashing and ringing in the cavernous hall. Neither group had any actual fighting skills, and it made for a haphazard and dangerous battle.

Tucker swung his sword randomly, his eyes tightly shut: hoping to God that he did not hit a ghost.

He, of course, was the only one who had not thought to go intangible.

His sword definitely connected with something, and he cracked open an eye to see that it had in fact been a very large human, who had now fallen to the floor and was scooting away from the maniacal ghost, clutching his shoulder, then running at full tilt for the splintered remains of the doorway.

Valerie was faring much better. She had fallen into a rhythm, and had beaten several humans already, cunningly driving them back towards the door. She had learned to use both her own weight and the human's against them, turning tangible periodically to throw one over her shoulder. She grinned, enjoying herself in a strange way.

She watched her last conquest sprinting as fast as possible with the damage she had done to his leg to the door, and then looked up just in time to see a swiping broadsword headed straight for Tucker's back. She gasped and shot over, dodging the dozens of ghosts and humans hacking at each other. She cursed how far apart their fighting and moving had taken them, quickening. She reached him at top speed, her arms held out, and pushed the ridiculous ghost to the ground just in time, the sword swishing past heavily over them. She flung her sword in an arc, knocking the man off of his feet.

She turned her attention back to Tucker.

"Go intangible you moron!" she hissed.

He grinned sheepishly, and kissed her cheek, before scrambling up once more. She shook her head again and stood also, hurtling right back into the battle.

Jazz was doing more of a whirling dance than any actual fighting. She had hit only one person, and completely by accident. She had to restrain herself from apologizing and growled at him instead, sending him running for the door. She beamed with happiness at having actually scared someone, then continued on swirling her rapier madly about her. She caught one man across the cheek with the very tip of the blade, and gasped as a maroon line appeared and started bleeding.

The man yelped, clutching his face, and tears welled in his eyes. His sword fell to the ground. She scoffed at him. Even _she _would not have cried at such a tiny hurt. She planted her foot in the middle of his chest, careful not to lift her skirts too much, and shoved him backwards towards the door.

She picked up his sword, and held it in one hand, her rapier in the other, ready in a fighting stance. She suddenly looked down, and realised what the was doing. She frowned at the two swords, then laughed. _This isn't gonna happen_.

"Valerie!"

She tossed the broadsword to her friend, pleased to note that it landed pommel down in Valerie's speedily outreached hand instead of the other way around. Valerie grinned at her, then rushed at the three men attacking Kwan; both swords flashing and twirling madly in her hands.

Most of the men had now been driven out, and only the most stubborn, brave – and stupid ones remained. The ratio of ghosts for humans was almost equal now, and Jazz knew they had all but won.

She didn't want to think about how pointless it had all been.

In all the clanging and flurry of the battle, nobody had noticed a single dark-haired man slipping into one of the side halls.

Breathless (as always), and having just chased another man out of the castle, Jazz turned to the room, watching her men and women fight with pride. But her face suddenly fell, and she froze.

Someone was missing.

"Where's Vlad?"

* * *

It was completely silent. Unable to move, she strained her ears for any sound, but she could hear none. Eventually she was able to pry open her eyes, but all she could see was blackness. 

She wriggled her fingers, pleased to find out that she still could, but had to stop when the vicious pain in her arm flared up again. She winced and cringed, her whole body curling up on itself against the agony. She wrenched the arm in against her stomach and cradled it there protectively.

Once the pain had begun to ebb, she decided it was safe once more to open her eyes. She was in the basement.

In the basement? Why on Earth…

And then she remembered.

"Danny!"

She leapt to her feet, ignoring this time the screaming protests of her body, and darted up the stairs. Using her good hand, she rattled the doorknob, but was not surprised to find it locked. She shoved her shoulder against it, noticing with vague worry that there was a terrible pain in that also.

In fact, her whole body felt like she had had a house fall on her. _I guess that's what happens when you're thrown down the stairs_, she thought angrily. _I have to get out of here! I have to go help Danny!_

She turned around, and for the first time spotted her father on the floor next to where she had been. She walked slowly back down to him, and knelt on the floor. She pressed her fingers lightly against his neck, feeling a strong, albeit slow, pulse. Satisfied, she sat back on her heels and looked around.

The basement was underground, so there were no other doors. The one door there was was locked and far too sturdy for her to break down – especially injured as she was now. She couldn't see any other way out.

Falling fully to the floor, sitting sideways on her feet, she fought desperation. Her fingers unconsciously went to the necklace at her throat. She cradled the rose between her fingers, tracing the curving petals fondly with her forefinger. She recalled what Danny had said about it. It was a strange coincidence.

Right?

She moved her fingers to open it, but as usual could not. She had never thought too much of it. But now, in the dark, locked up in the dirty dark basement, desperation threatening to close in – it really aggravated her. It seemed so much worse now – that the locket wouldn't open. She fiddled some more with the lock on the rose, but to no avail.

"Just open!" she shouted furiously. She wrestled with the clasp, desperately trying to wrench it open, not worried at all about snapping off her nails, or even snapping the locket.

But nothing happened.

She fell forwards onto her stomach – and winced in pain when something crushed against her hipbone. She reached her hand down and pulled out the beautiful crystal Danny had made. She held it in her hand, fighting back the tears that were threatening to well up in her eyes. In the dark the rainbows of colors shimmering within it were gone, and it just looked like a perfectly rounded piece of glass, clutched there in her hand like a lifeline.

Suddenly the room grew brighter. She looked around in shock, her eyes wide, at the white-green light illuminating the dank space.

"What the–"

And then she realized that the light was coming from the locket. She looked down at it in shock, then held it once more between her fingers, the crystal in the other hand. It glowed brighter.

Frowning, she drew it away from the crystal, and the light dimmed, and it brightened again when she brought them closer again. Her eyes widened. _What's going on? _

Then suddenly, as if she knew exactly what she was doing, she brought her right hand, still holding the crystal, towards the locket, until they were touching. The light shining out from the locket was almost too bright for her to look at, and she cried out as it engulfed her.

The shimmering white-green light shining from the Manson home on the hill had not been seen in Amity for almost exactly one hundred years.

* * *

**slightly shorter than usual, but...**

**please review!!!!!**

**FunkyFish1991**


	13. Fight

**A/N - i own nothing :( except Alira. she's mine**

**hmm, this chappie gets a little...morbid? mmm, not really the right word. sorry - it's 12:45 in the morning and my brain has shut off.**

**SO sorry for the wait time. end of term WAY too many things going on. tonight was the only free time i've had for well over a week. last half may be full of errors, as i havent checked it yet - wanted to get this chapter up asap!!! please tell me if there are any spelling errors (or if i've used the complete wrong word. this late, i wouldn't put it past me :p) so i can fix them for you guys!**

**without any further ado...chapter twelve...**

**

* * *

**

_**Twleve**_

**

* * *

**

The rain thundered down on the castle, pounding loudly over the cacophony of swords and shouts in the entrance hall of the grand castle on the mountain. Black clouds had blocked out the sun, and within the castle a grey stone head curved round morosely to stare up at the pitch sky, sighing loftily.

Opposite the window of the southern turret, its stained glass long since cracked and lying in dull shards on the floor far below, the wooden rafters of the roof crisscrossed and stretched over each other, competing for the space inside the ancient tower. Grey stones made up the inside walls; an endless repeated pattern of grey lines and grey slabs. And high up among the rafters, looming majestically over the interior of the tower were dozens upon dozens of faces.

Carved stoically into the inside wall of the tower, the gargoyles watched sullenly over the tower. Most featured the faces of birds, while some were other animals, but all shared the same distraught – sometimes angry – expressions, as if they shared in the terrible fate soon to befall the denizens of the castle.

Suddenly, with an ominous cracking noise, the head of the great raven turned once more from looking out of the window at the oppressing storm and back to the room that it had been surveying intermittently for the past century. And then, once more, it started to move, shaking; as if it were ruffling its feathers after a long roost.

Out its wings stretched. Flapping strongly, they shook the bird's whole body, and the stone around it cracked; fissures snaking all across its surface. The coating of rock fell off, the pieces crashing to the ground far below and smashing as soon as they hit.

In the place of the stone gargoyle perched a gleaming white raven; a faint white glow surrounding it and emanating from it.

Outreaching its wings, the white bird soared off of the ridge, swooping down through the turret, flapping its wings frantically.

_It ends tonight. _

The raven fell gracefully through the castle, landing finally on the edge of the balcony of the entrance hall. Down below her a strange and motley group of people were desperately fighting the ghosts she had become so familiar with – though they did not know she was there, nor that she had been silently observing them all these years.

_Or, does it begin? _

But where was the boy? The one on whom this all depended? She looked around her in puzzlement.

Suddenly outside there was a blinding flash of green-white light, snapping her attention sharply to the window. She felt a strange pull on her soul – her power.

_What on Earth was that?!_

She closed her eyes and disappeared in a flash of the same colored light, her wings flying out to her sides. She reappeared at exactly the same moment outside the castle, perched high up on top of its outer wall, peering around her. And down there, on the hill below her there was a motion in the trees.

She fluttered down from the outer wall and landed in a tree just above the unidentified motion. She peered down through the branches, unwilling to be seen but also finding it hard _to _see.

She finally made out a figure collapsed on the ground. Her hair was raven-black, and her clothing was all black too – which was why she had had so much trouble spotting the girl in the oppressing dark of the night. The rain was still thundering down on the ground, spattering mud across the girl's prostrate form, dirtying her clothing and smudging across her pale face. Rivers of soiled water trailed down the slope of the mountain, avoiding the girl and rushing fallen leaves past her.

But now that she had spotted the figure in amongst the dirt and leaves, she recognized her instantly. It was the fiery girl who had arrived at the castle just in time to cause havoc; and break the spell. Of course, she had not yet, and despite her obligation not to allow her emotions to invade upon her job, Alira found herself wishing desperately for the stubborn girl just to admit out loud her love for the strange ghost-boy. She knew she did indeed love him: for she was the Ghost of the Heart.

And he did not deserve to die.

But right now it was the girl who was unmoving. Alira cocked her head and looked around, feeling inexplicably guilty before even having done anything. As quickly as she could she dropped to the ground beside the girl and hopped onto her chest.

She was alive; she could sense it. With a flood of relief, she outstretched her wings and was about to take flight once more before she could be spotted – when she suddenly felt another strange pull on her power, like the one she had felt before, in the castle. She looked back in confusion at the girl.

It was then that she noticed the locket around her neck. It was still faintly glowing with a white-green light – _her_ power, _her_ energy. Alira recognized the piece of jewelry instantly, after all these years, as the locket that the lady of the castle had been wearing on the night of the curse. It must have harnessed her power somehow. She had heard of that happening.

But how had the village girl come by it?

Suddenly the fingers on the pale hand lying muddied beside the girl's head curled around falteringly. Alira leapt back in fear of discovery and pounded away, up into the air, back to the castle, hoping upon hope that the girl would break the curse in time.

* * *

Sam groaned. It felt as though her body was trying to turn itself inside out. Her shoulder was still throbbing agonizingly, her wrists stinging, her back and legs aching. With a poorly suppressed curse she heaved her body up, taking note of all her damage. But there was one thing she noticed above everything else. 

She was freezing cold – and wet.

She swore again when she realized just how hard it was raining, and how completely soaked her nightdress was. She pulled herself onto her feet, hissing through her teeth at the pain the movement caused in her body. She looked around her, and realized that she was in Amity Forest. How…she could have sworn she had been in her uncle's basement…

_Oh_.

She remembered the engulfing flash of light that the locket had emitted. It must have…teleported her here somehow. She shook her head unknowingly, and hugged her arm to her body in a vain attempt to ease the pain in her shoulder. It was relatively futile, but the pain was beginning to be strong enough to inhibit her ability to even think.

She knew she had to get out of the rain. She did another full turn, and this time she noticed a very faint, hazy light before her. She squinted at it, desperate to make it out.

She thought vaguely that her vision should not be this blurry – even in the pouring rain.

At exactly the same moment she made out the shadowy form to be Danny's castle, she realized that she was on a severe slope, the slope of Amity mountain; and wondered how she had not noticed that before. Without thinking, she picked up her right foot and set it down a little way before her. The other rose slowly, and, gradually, agonizingly, she moved towards the castle.

A little while later she collapsed – her knees folding beneath her and her frail body tumbling to the floor. She rolled back down the hill many feet, hurtling between trunks and through ferns, until she cracked into a tree and was painfully halted.

The rain hurled itself down upon her, a grey, shimmering haze all around her as she was wrapped backwards around the tree trunk. She was coated with mud, her face covered, her clothing caked. Her head rose, and she noticed belatedly a new agony in her neck.

She struggled back to her feet, moving forward once more, making up the ground her fall had lost her. Ferns grew thickly now around her feet, and she had to work harder to push herself through them. Her arm was still pressed protectively to her stomach, alternating now between throbbing agonizingly and being worryingly numb.

When she reached the end of the trees she found herself looking up hopefully. But her heart plummeted when she realized that she was standing at the base of an almost sheer cliff face – at least thirty feet high. She knew that without the full use of her legs and without any use of one of her arms that she was never going to be able to climb it.

In despair she allowed her shaking legs what they wanted. She crashed to the floor on her stomach, dimly glad that her shoulder had chosen that moment to be numb instead of highly sensitive and painful. She lay there for many minutes, her face pressed into the dirt, the rain soaking her completely, creating a liquid layer over her pale flesh that glinted in the moonlight.

She finally picked her head up, rain droplets cascading down her face – and froze.

All around her were the sides of the cliff. Ferns were crushed below her and fanned out before her – into what should be the solid rock of the cliff face. She realized that her face should have smacked into the rock when she fell forwards.

Reaching out before her with her one good hand, ignoring the pain shooting back into her opposite shoulder, she grabbed the dry dirt before her in a clumsy fistful, small pieces of it escaping her grip and padding back down to the ground. She pulled her body forwards along the sparse grass. She pulled herself again with the fragile arm, deeper into the cave, out of the now torrential rain.

Trying desperately to ignore her agony, she slid herself up the rough side wall of the cave, the rocks ripping at the skin of her back, and looked deeper within it. Though it was almost pitch black, she realized instantly that it had the same interior as the labyrinth of passageways under Danny's castle had.

Her eyes widened. This must have been a tunnel for the inhabitants of the castle to get out of it in during a siege, or attack.

But it would serve _her_ purposes just as well.

She walked forwards, able now to tune out the pain as resolve and purpose flooded her. She was on a rather steep incline, and it made the going hard. Her hand crept up to the locket around her neck, her other arm falling, forgotten, to her side. She was distantly surprised to find it open, and still glowing. She looked down at it in the gloom, and could make out two tiny pictures.

The one on the left was Jazz – older than she had been in the portrait she had found in the passageway, but younger than she was now. Her smile was beatific, her eyes glittering youthfully.

She looked so…carefree. Sam smiled at her likeness, able now to see sparks of the girl in the photo in the too-early matured woman she knew.

Then the picture on the right – it was a young boy; a little younger than Jazz. His hair was pure black, just like Sam's own, and his smile was mischievous and naïve. He looked friendly and sweet, as though he was always ready to play – or to play a trick. She found herself grinning just at the tiny portrait of the boy – before wondering who it was.

If this was Mrs Fenton's locket, and the other child was Jazz…then this must be…

Danny.

Her eyes widened further, and she stopped abruptly. _That was Danny: before he was a ghost. _His eyes were a piercing blue – just like the ones she had seen in her dreams.

But how could she possibly have…?

She shook her head, starting to walk again; her pain forgotten as she gazed into the boyish eyes of the man that she loved.

The man she…loved?

She grinned almost ruefully, and snapped the locket shut, clenching it in her hand as her pace quickened, ignoring her body's throbbing protests as she disappeared down the obsidian tunnel, far below the castle, her tapping footsteps echoing through the passageway – heedless of the dark red trail she was leaving behind her.

* * *

The sounds of the battle could be easily heard ringing through the halls, but they became steadily quieter as he drew away from the main hall, slipping through the castle alone. 

"Now, will you be cowering in your chambers? Or hiding in some other room?" Vlad mused as he moved quickly down the west hallway, his sword raised ready at his side. "Why are you not fighting?"

He swept around towards the staircase, and ascended it swiftly. After many minutes he scowled, and instantly a black light shot over his body. In its wake his physique changed from that of an old, thin man with grey hair to that of a far younger man with black hair, standing up devilishly from his head, his eyes glowing unnaturally red. His clothing became a white cloak, swirling out behind him as he soared intangibly up to the very top of the tower.

On that fateful night, almost exactly one hundred years ago, when the magical light had taken up the castle, he had had one foot outside the castle, and one in. Consequently, he had gained the ability to be either a ghost _or _a human – he was something in between, some sort of 'halfa'.

Oh, how he had used that to his advantage.

He turned invisible just before his head phased through the floor of the uppermost room of the tower. He looked around cautiously, and was just about to leave when he spotted him.

He was hunched pathetically in a corner, his body wrapped around itself. He was close enough to the wide open doors for the wind to be whipping his hair and clothing, but just far enough away not to be soaked by the pouring rain.

Vlad smirked victoriously and floated up the rest of the way through the floor, though maintaining his invisibility. His arms folded, he stood across the room from the younger ghost, watching him, his sword held nonchalantly in one hand.

He had time.

"What do you want, Vlad?"

Vlad was startled out of his invisibility. His eyes trained on the ghost in the corner – but he had not moved. He was still hunched over his knees, staring at the floor. There was no way he could have seen him….

Unwilling to be seen as having been ruffled, Vlad moved slightly towards the ghost, wiping the startled expression from his features. Danny's head came up momentarily to stare out of the window. He sighed, then stood. He moved over to stand, his legs braced far from each other, right in front of the doorway.

Vlad's eyes followed him.

They stood in silence for a long time, the thundering of the rain and the distant clanging of weapons interspersed with pained yells the only audible sounds. Vlad finally turned his attention to the clock ticking in the corner.

_Twenty minutes_.

With a twist of his lips, Vlad threw his sword to the ground and drew his arm back past his ear. A deep magenta light began to burn between his fingers and his palm. With barely a sound, he threw his arm forwards and let the blast go.

It hurtled forwards and struck Danny squarely in the back. With a yell, the younger ghost was thrown forwards, flying out onto the balcony and crashing into an ungainly mess across the low wall framing the semicircular balcony. He winced, and heaved himself up onto his feet, flexing his back muscles and glaring through the rain at Vlad, who had moved into the doorway.

If he was surprised by Vlad's new appearance, he did not show it.

"What are you doing?" he shouted.

"Securing my future," Vlad muttered almost inaudibly, charging up another magenta blast and letting it rocket into the center of Danny's chest.

* * *

Her sneeze ripped through her body and almost sent her sprawling onto the floor. She regained her solid footing and continued walking. Her hand was tracing along the wall of the passage, since as soon as she had rounded the second turn the meager light from outside had disappeared, and she had been thrown into disconcerting blackness. 

She sniffed back another sneeze, still walking, her feet padding endlessly down the passage. She was still on an incline, but it had started to smooth out about fifty feet ago, and continued to gentle as she carried on.

Squawking could faintly be heard from further on in the tunnel, and she just hoped that if it _was_ the sound of bats, as she thought, that she would not run into them at any point. Above her she could hear commotion – some strange, unidentifiable noise that reminded her distantly of the blacksmith pounding on his anvil, only far less rhythmic.

She suddenly threw her good arm up to her nose, pinching it shut, refusing to sneeze. She came to a standstill as she desperately fought the tickling urge. It eventually passed, and she released her nose.

But the moment she did, the tickling returned, with a vengeance, and before she could respond, she sneezed again, the violent motion tearing across her and sending her pounding into the stone wall behind her.

Exhausted and in unspeakable pain, she allowed herself to slump down the wall, crumpling into an agonized heap on the floor.

"Danny," she whimpered, as if it was her life. "I'm sorry, I couldn't…"

She pressed her eyes together, collecting her resolve. She would die before she would allow Vlad or Dash to hurt her Danny.

She pulled herself back up onto her feet and staggered along down the corridor. She had figured out somewhere along the way that her other arm was broken in at least one place on her forearm, and she was fairly certain that she had dislocated her shoulder – at least a little. Her arm was constantly aching now, pain searing across it with each step she took. She had already torn off a strip off of the bottom of her nightdress and made herself a crude sling for the useless arm.

She was dripping. Water still ran down her face from her hair, the black strands slicked to her forehead and cheeks, and her black clothing was sodden and sticking uncomfortably to her body. Her bare feet were soaking, and felt torn open. The backs of her legs were wet too.

She didn't understand how she could _still_ be dripping water after how long she had been out of the rain.

Suddenly she stopped abruptly.

Unintentionally.

She rubbed her nose crossly where it had come into rude contact with a wall, and reached out her useful arm to the right. It touched another wall, so she shrugged her good shoulder and walked to the left. The passage became more of a maze then, snaking and twisting and turning and dead-ending all over the place. She knew that wherever she went, she would end up somewhere under the castle, so just carried on until she found a staircase.

It did not take her too long to trip over one.

She waited, her face pressed into the icy stone, for the screaming pain to subside before standing up. She climbed up the remaining six steps, and then tapped on the ceiling, just to make sure that there was indeed a trap door there.

There was. She felt over the surface for a handle, a ring, a dip, anything. Finding nothing, she frowned and tried pushing up on it. Nothing happened, so she tried harder. It shifted ever so slightly, and she scowled venomously up at it in the pitch black. She threw he shoulder up at it, but only succeeded in injuring herself further.

Nursing her _other _wounded shoulder and cursing both her stupidity and the obstinate trap door, she thought frantically for another option. She really did not want to go searching for another trap door – for God knows how long it would take her, and she knew that Danny did not have that much time.

So, she resorted to her only remaining option.

"Hello?!" She shouted as loudly as she could. "Someone? Help!"

A tiny red trickle slid off of the back of her heel, and dripped down the stairs.

* * *

Only a tiny handful of villagers were left by then, and most of the ghosts were resting around the large room, watching the others beat back the straggling humans. Tucker and Valerie were still sparring back and forth with one of the villagers. Judging by his size and his top-heavy physique, they guessed he was a blacksmith, or something similar. 

The fact that he was fighting with forge tools helped with that assumption.

Valerie finally got in a low swipe and injured his leg. He tumbled to the ground like a felled oak and roared loudly. Valerie yelled at him to leave, and he did so with only momentary delay, favoring his cut leg.

Jazz swung her sword ferociously around her head – painstakingly careful not to actually hit the man she was fighting; just to scare him. It worked, and he ducked, yelping in fright. But he drew back his sword once more, and was about to deliver a blow to her leg from his low position on the stone floor. She merely stood still: knowing that she could phase right through it.

But just before the blade would have made contact, she was violently thrown to the side. She landed on the floor under something very heavy, crushed under its weight. It suddenly got up, and it turned out to be Kwan, holding out a hand to help her up.

"Kwan? What was that for? I was intangible, he…"

She froze when she saw the huge gash in Kwan's side, his hand splayed protectively across it.

"Wh-wh-how did…you're, but, we…"

"We can't go intangible anymore Jazz."

"H-ho-why?" Suddenly her eyes widened. "It must be because of Danny!…because he fell in love with Sam…that's half of the curse fulfilled. Which means, we aren't really ghosts anymore – and we can be hurt!"

She watched Tucker and Valerie fighting still, far more nervously than before, but soon realized that Valerie was quite capable of fighting the unskilled human and coming away unscathed. Tucker, however, she dashed over to and dragged away by the arm.

"Tucker," she whispered.

"Yeah?" He was still engrossed in the fight, looking nervous, his eyes flickering back and forth between Valerie and the burly human.

"I'm really worried."

He turned to face her. "Why?"

"Vlad isn't here. I bet he's gone to get Danny!"

"But, why?"

"I don't know, Tucker!"

He nodded. "We'd better go check it out. Valerie!"

With one final heaving swipe at the man before her, Valerie relieved the man of his sword and held her own to his chin. She barked at him to leave, and he did so – scurrying out of the door and leaving the trio staring after him.

He had been the last of the humans to go, and a resounding cheer sounded through the entrance hall. But neither Jazz, Tucker nor Valerie were there to share in the triumph – and they heard the celebration of their victory as an echo down the halls as they flew as fast as they could up to the west turret.

* * *

Three ghosts rushed past him, and he followed them both nervously and suspiciously with his eyes. They did not seem to notice him, and continued on down the hall, their feet hovering far off of the floor. 

He smirked, and pushed back the tapestry. He shuffled out from behind it, and dusted himself off pompously. He had no interest whatsoever in fighting the spooks – all he knew was that Samantha cared for a being in this castle, whom she referred to in her sleep as 'Danny', and that he was going to kill this 'Danny', right before her eyes.

Revenge was sweet. She defied him, and now her heart was going to pay. Looking both ways down the corridor, he decided to head after the ghosts, and turned right.

He loved it so when he found weaknesses of hers. His favourite, of course, had been her undying affection for her father. He had held that over her head many a time, and it served its purpose wonderfully as an instrument of both torture and control.

Another one he liked was her obvious physical weakness.

But this new one – this 'love' she felt. Ripping that away from her would be sweet control the likes of which he had never known before. He would break her. He would finally break that damned spirit that had allowed her to defy him for all these years.

His lips twisted.

Suddenly he heard a noise, and jerked instantly against the wall, tensing his muscles and listening intently for any further signs of danger. It sounded vaguely like someone calling.

And it was close.

He slipped along the wall a little ways, and opened the door there. He entered the room and looked around. Then he heard it again.

"Anyone? Help?"

He grinned as he recognized the voice, not caring how impossible it was for her to be there - not even thinking it.

He listened as she continued to yell for help, and finally deduced that the sound was coming from below the floor. Below the couch. He did not bother to contemplate the strangeness of that, and moved over to the piece of furniture. He picked it up and, with a vague struggle, pushed it to the side. Beneath it was the obvious outline of a trapdoor in the wood flooring.

There was a deep groove on one edge, and into this he inserted his fingers. With some creaking, he ripped the door open.

She blinked unseeingly up at him, obviously blinded by the light he had let in. Seizing his chance, he reached down and delved his fingers into her hair. Clasping his hand around her tiny head, he lifted her out of the hole in the floor, and tossed her across the room.

Due to a small error in judgment, she landed, relatively unharmed, on the couch he had just moved. He strode immediately over to her, and picked her up once more by the hair. He wrenched her to her feet, and was mildly taken aback.

She was a mess. She looked worse now than she ever had after he had left her, beaten and bruised in her room. Her left arm was torn open and bloodied, glaring black bruises already formed in four distinct oval shapes on her forearm. There was a curious purplish bump near her wrist also, and he figured that that was her bone, snapped and protruding. Her neck was bruised too, and swollen. Her left shoulder looked unnatural, hanging strangely.

The backs of her legs were drenched in blood, and streaks of blood were across her face, intermittent with smudges of dirt and pieces of hair plastered and soaking to her skin.

But even through her obvious pain and physical destruction, those annoyingly purple eyes were still spitting fire at him, and all he could feel was his consuming hatred for the bitch.

He drew back his hand and struck her across the face with his knuckles. She fell instantly to the ground, her broken arm crushed unnaturally under her. She pulled herself up. Pain radiated from her features, from her body, from her trembling lip, but _still_, those infernal eyes defied him.

Fury sparked within him, and he threw his booted foot into her stomach, watching her body bend around it, her eyes screwing shut in agony. He grinned, having been able to get at least that much out of her. As long as those defiant eyes did not look at him, it was alright.

"Do you know why I came here, Samantha?"

He kicked her once more, rolling her over onto her back as she wrestled with her pain.

"I heard you mumbling in your sleep about some boy here. A certain 'Danny', I believe."

He crushed his boot down on her chest.

"I'm going to kill him. I'm going to take his life, and you will watch."

He kicked her face now, and she rolled back over onto her stomach. He heard a muffled sound come from her lips.

"Sorry? What was _that_?" With his last word he delivered one more, shattering kick to her back. She rolled several feet from him, and lay still. There was a long pause.

"No."

With her good arm, she pushed her body up, until she was sitting on her feet. Her face was marred now with a bruise where he had struck her, and the skin was split in two places - one injury from his knuckles and one from his boot, slicing cleanly open the flesh on her cheekbone.

"No."

"No?" _More insolence! _"No _what_?"

"You will not kill him."

His nostrils flared, and he clenched his fists. Why _was _it that he could break her body over and over again, but could never break that relentless spirit? She was _still _defying him!

"Yes, I am. And I will do it in front of you. And you will watch him die. And there will be _nothing _you can do about it!"

"No, he, he can't die…not now…not when…" She suddenly grabbed her stomach and retched. He glared at her and took a step forwards. She was rocking now, her eyes tightly shut. They eventually opened, and she glared at him.

He practically boiled over then and there. He stormed forwards and gripped her hair, yanking her head back at a painful angle. He put his face right up close to hers.

"Not when…?" He demanded for her to finish.

"I…" Her voice cracked. Blood was beginning to leak from her lips, and she pressed them together to keep it back. And she could only finish in a hoarse whisper.

"I love him."

Philip Manson had never been more furious, and yet, those three words made him feel so insanely happy. _She loved him – 'Danny'._ When he died – maybe so would her soul.

She would be broken.

Finally.

She went limp in his grip, and he turned towards the door, dragging her body along behind him unceremoniously, wiping a blood trail behind them as they went.

It was a little while on that he heard a very loud bang.

His head jerked in the direction of the noise, and then his feet ran there. He pushed open some double doors – and looked into a huge expanse. It was obvious that it was the grand ballroom of the castle. He heard another crash, but could not determine where it was from. Panicked, he ran into the cavernous room, and shut the door behind him.

He looked around him, and saw a chair. Grinning slightly to himself, his mouth twisted into an almost insane smile, he dragged the limp form of his niece over to it. He ripped one of the cords from around the curtain behind it, and tied her to the chair loosely – enough to keep her body from tumbling to the floor.

He did not notice her slowing heartbeat.

He did not notice exactly how much of her blood was now all over the castle floors, and still leaking from her flesh.

He didn't notice her fading away.

But when a huge crash sounded, and suddenly pieces of mortar and stone showered over him, he yelped, and left his niece's side, hurrying to hide behind one of the thick curtains behind her.

* * *

"Danny?!" 

Jazz's voice rang out beside Tucker's violent slamming on her brother's bedroom door. Valerie tapped her foot impatiently behind them.

"Danny! Please answer!"

The trio suddenly heard a loud crash and a yell from inside the room.

"That's it!" Valerie shouted. She pushed the other two aside and flew right through the door into the room beyond. The others were right behind her.

The room was empty. Jazz stepped forwards and whispered into the silence.

"Danny?"

Outside there was suddenly a brilliant flash of pink. All three heads jerked to the window, and soon the trio was hurtling towards it. They flew out into the pouring rain, and looked around.

"There!" Tucker shouted, pointing.

The two girls craned their necks to look up at what Tucker was pointing to. Danny was lying on the roof above and to the left of them. His cloak was just a smouldering remnant, his clothing singed and smoking. He was resting back on his elbows, panting viciously, pointless though it was.

Hovering above him was a horrible figure – though white-clothed, he looked nothing short of evil, with spiked black hair, sickly bluish skin, bared fangs. Between his hands he held a ball of magenta energy. He drew back his arm, prepared to flatten Danny completely.

"No!" Jazz screamed.

The energy was released, and the three ghosts watched their friend tearing through the roof, leaving a gaping hole in his wake, splintering tiles and stone into the air.

The demonic ghost followed after him down into the belly of the castle.

"Come on!" Valerie shouted, soaring up into the air and then diving down into the hole.

But she was stopped, and was thrown back into the air to join Jazz and Tucker with a gasp. Across the hole was some sort of pinkish shield, pulsing with energy and defiantly impenetrable. By mutual assent, the trio of friends darted back into Danny's room and shot intangibly through the castle, in search of the fighting pair.

* * *

Danny landed with a resounding crack on a stone floor, amidst clattering debris of mortar and tiles from the roof. Vlad had blasted him right down through all the floors of the castle, right down to the ground floor. Danny looked around him, and through the dusty cloud his fall had raised he could just make out the ballroom surrounding him. 

He fought himself onto his feet, stretching his muscles and clicking his twisted neck. He grimaced against the pain. It was…unfortunate…that it was now, now that he could actually _use_ his habitual intangibly, now that he was being attacked – it was gone. Somewhere in his mind he knew why, but could not put his finger on it, and right now had more important things to worry about.

Vlad shot down through the hole in the castle he had made, and Danny immediately charged up his hands with ghostly energy. His own energy was green, but he did not notice as he shot it fiercely at his oncoming attacker – his drive for self-defense making him forget his fate.

The clock ticking inaudibly behind the blasting pair held its shortest hand less than one mark from the large 'XII' at the top of the face.

It was almost midnight.

**

* * *

**

**please review :p**

**FunkyFish1991**


	14. End

**A/N - still own nothing but Alira**

**my god, i hate this story's summary more every time i read it. if anyone can come up with a better one PLEASE tell me. it _really _sucks and i'm too sleepy to rewrite it :( hmm, well nevermind, i guess...this is the last chapter.**

**i know. :'(**

**well, i have like eight story ideas floating around in my head...just gotta get one down!!!**

**anyway, le fin...**

**

* * *

**

**_Thirteen_**

_**

* * *

**_

Vlad shot to the side just in time to dodge a powerful green blast from Danny. But the barrage continued, and it was only a matter of time before one of the shots made contact. A green flash hit him right in his stomach, and sent him falling to the ground. He slammed into the cold stone floor with a groan, but instantly rolled over and heaved himself up onto his feet.

All he had to do was distract Daniel for eleven more minutes. Then it would be midnight – and as soon as it was, he would kill Daniel, rid himself of Jack, that bumbling idiot; and Maddie would finally be returned to him.

He grinned, his resolve renewed, and he floated up to be level with his adversary. The boy's chest was heaving, and his fingers were splayed fiercely around his palms, viridian energy crackling around them. His cloak was nothing more than a charred strip of fabric hanging from the emerald clasp at his throat. Even as Vlad hovered opposite him, his arms crossed imperiously across his chest, Danny reached up and ripped the clasp off, letting the remains of the fabric fall to the floor. The front of his black shirt was pulled open, revealing a slash across his chest that was seeping greenish blood.

Danny's white hair was mussed and full of debris, his face scratched from his descent through the castle. The vibrant green eyes were glowing ferociously, his anger and his hatred for Vlad radiating from them.

Neither of them did anything, just waiting for the other to make the first move – the first mistake. Vlad was just wasting time without wasting energy, but Danny's whole body was on alert, his human instinct for self-preservation still present, after all those years.

Vlad snuck a glance at the clock behind Daniel. _Ten minutes_.

_It was now time_.

With no warning, Vlad charged up his hands with energy and launched himself at the tensed ghost, not expecting him to react fast enough – fully prepared to pin him down before he could even lift a finger.

But he underestimated his foe.

Danny, with lighting reactions, grabbed Vlad on either side of his chest as he flew at him and tossed him to the ground below, flipping the older man over onto his back. Vlad heaved a pained groan, and only just managed to roll out of the way before Danny's fist slammed into the marble where his head had been.

Vlad, worried now about his timing, threw himself clumsily at Danny. He managed to grab him around the neck, and triumphantly pounded him down into the ground.

Despite his younger age, Danny could not match Vlad's strength, and could not shake himself out from under the halfa's grip. His legs whirled wildly as he threw himself at the older ghost. He punched Vlad in the face, and though Vlad roared in pain, his head thrown backwards by the force of the blow, he retained his hold on Danny's neck.

Danny gritted his teeth. He didn't know what Vlad was hoping to accomplish by doing this, but he would not let him get even close. The backs of his hands resting on the floor, he summoned all the energy he could spare into his fists. They started glowing furiously, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on getting all the energy he could into his hands before releasing it straight into Vlad's face – probably incinerating them both, along with most of the room.

But whatever the cost, he would not let Vlad get away with whatever he was doing – because knowing Vlad; it could not bode well for any of the people in this castle that he cared so much for.

He was just about to let the energy go, right into the center of Vlad's smug face, when he suddenly heard a faint sound, and he froze.

Vlad, too, was surprised, and although he did not release his hold on Danny, his head whipped to the side in the direction of the noise.

Danny seized his chance. He let go of some of the energy in his hands, just firing enough at Vlad to blast him up off of him and half-way across the cavernous room – where he lay completely still. Danny scrambled to his feet and turned, as Vlad had, to the source of the noise.

His mouth dropped open at what he saw. Tied to a chair across the room was a small, dark, hunched figure.

_Sam_.

He knew it was Sam – but she was barely recognizable. Her face was tattered and bloody, her hair rumpled all over her shoulders and face. Her black nightdress was ripped across her torso and across the bottom, stopping now only just shy of her knees. One arm was lying on her lap, but the other was hanging limply from its socket. As he moved closer he could see vicious bruises over the porcelain skin, and purple discoloration around her wrist.

She was tied to the chair with a golden tasseled rope that looked like it had come straight off one of the curtains, snaking under her chest tightly. Danny distantly noticed, as he shot over to her, that the curtain behind her was unfixed, and hanging loosely.

He stopped just before her; setting his feet silently down on the marble floor. Gently he traced his fingers down her face, pushing back the hair covering her closed eye tenderly, brushing the pad of his thumb across her eyelid. The skin on her cheekbone was split in two places, the wounds leaking dark red blood that trickled down her face and dripped onto her chest.

He did not realize that his teeth were gritted behind his lips as he looked over the damage to her face. He finally moved his focus down to her stomach, where he wrapped his hand around the rope tying her to the chair and burned it away in a flash of green. He lifted her into his arms, hugging her limp body into his chest, his eyes pressed shut in anger.

He would kill whoever had done this to her.

He reached up with one hand, balancing the tiny girl in his grip on one arm, and tore one of the curtains right from the rod high above him. It crashed heavily to the floor, but he dodged nimbly and carefully out of its way. One it had settled, he laid her broken form down on the thick, soft material, and kneeled beside her.

The backs of her legs were covered in blood, spilling from countless wounds all over her body – and though he could feel her heart beating, the pulse was slow and weak. Her skin was icy cold and almost as pale as his. Shivers racked her body periodically, her lips blue and trembling. His hands were curled into tight fists on his knees.

Suddenly he heard the faintest noise behind him. His teeth crashed together and he whipped around to grab Vlad by the throat. He lifted the shocked halfa into the air, his eyes spitting green fire at the older ghost, and then he brought him right in close to his face.

"Leave us alone, Vlad."

It was only then that he remembered; and he turned to the clock in alarm. There were only two minutes left until it was midnight. He turned back in fury to Vlad.

"Why are you bothering? In two minutes we will all be dead!"

"_That _is exactly why I am _bothering_!" Vlad snapped. "I _will _have Maddie as my wife, and killing _you _at midnight is how I am going to do that!"

He immediately scowled and pressed his lips firmly together – furious with himself for blurting out that information.

Danny was shocked. And although he didn't really understand all of what Vlad had just revealed – he had heard that he was going to kill him, and get his mother. For that his father would have to be dead. For that, his sister and his friends would have to be dead – for if he died, so would they, as he was the key to this curse.

With one final snarl, Danny threw Vlad into the air and shot the most powerful blast he could muster into the old ghost's chest.

Vlad crashed through the window with a chilling scream and an explosion of glass. Green blood flew from his body as, mortally injured, he tumbled down the mountainside into the black mist swirling far below the castle.

Danny stood before the shattered window morosely, his hands hanging heavily by his sides. _It was the only way_._ Wasn't it? _

_What have I done? _

A gentle moan from Sam suddenly grabbed his attention. He whipped around and shot over to her side. He went down onto his knees beside her, and slipped his hand into hers. Her skin was almost as cold as his own, and pasty white, tinged with blue.

Gently she turned her head to look into his face. Her purple eyes shone out to him from the mess of her skin, a faint smile tracing onto her lips.

"Are you…alright?"

Her voice was cracked and croaky – as if she had been screaming. However, as Danny looked down on the bruising around her neck, he figured that that may not have been the reason.

He nodded vaguely before answering her. "Yes."

"Good."

Her head fell slowly back onto the fabric beneath it, her neck obviously not able to cope with its weight. Danny's grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly.

"What are you doing here, Sam? What happened to you?"

She snorted at him. "I came to save you." Her voice was heavily sarcastic, but he wasn't sure why. "Great job, huh? I knew that Dash was coming here…and…" She started coughing, and it was just then that Danny noticed the trickles of dried blood at the corners of her mouth.

"Sam…" His voice caught.

For once in his long life, he knew exactly what was going on. Frantically, he turned his head to the clock.

_One minute_.

He breathed out painfully. He couldn't leave her now. It had taken him all this time to find her, he just couldn't go now – not now that he finally had her. Her threw his head forwards, burying his face in her shoulder.

Her hand gently came up. He felt her cold fingers lacing through his hair. He was vaguely surprised to find tears leaking from his eyes as he held her – holding her as close to him as he could, as if he wanted to be a part of her.

He suddenly heard a slight rustling. His whole body tensed as he listened keenly, braced to protect Sam if the need arose.

He then heard what was definitely a footfall, and he whipped around, while keeping his hand laced with Sam's.

Standing behind them was a man with brown hair, mussed clothing and wild eyes. Danny did not trust him the second he saw him, and he drew back his body until he was leaning right over Sam, while not breaking eye contact with the man.

The brown-haired man's hand suddenly moved, reaching into his cloak. Danny sprung backwards, grabbing Sam in his arms. They both stared at the man, and Sam's lips moved weakly.

"Uncle."

Danny's eyes immediately narrowed. He didn't have to know the man at all to know that the way Sam spoke his voice told him everything he needed to know. Danny took a step backwards, pulling Sam in closer to his chest protectively.

"Put me down, Danny."

"No." He did not look at her, but his teeth were gritted, and he never dropped his eye contact with her manic-looking uncle.

"Yes, Danny. Put me down – now, please!"

Begrudgingly, he lowered her legs until her feet brushed the floor. He did not understand why she wanted to be put on the floor – she could hardly stand; gripping his arm like a lifeline.

But he understood completely when she raised her eyes to her uncle's. She did not want to look weak in front of him. Her eyes were fierce and furious, and just her glare seemed to madden her uncle further.

"Are you 'Danny'?"

Danny did not answer, but the narrowing of his eyes told Philip enough. With a terrible silence, he retracted his hand from inside his coat, revealing a curved-blade dagger. Before Danny could react, he lunged forwards, aiming straight for his heart.

But Danny felt a harsh pressure on his arm, and he was suddenly falling to the floor. But as he fell he whipped his head up. He saw the uncle still swiping the knife. He saw Sam stumbling, off balance from pushing him, pain etching into every line of her face.

The knife sunk into her chest silently and immediately, and the hilt hit her skin with a hollow thunk.

Danny crashed to the floor already rolling, and leapt up instantly – his hands already aimed, green energy already crackling between his fingers. He fired a blast into the dead center of the monster's chest, and sent him soaring across the room, halting as he slammed into the wall opposite, and tumbling to the ground, unmoving.

Behind them, the great grandfather clock chimed deeply.

Danny was by Sam's side just as the double doors to the ballroom were thrown wide open, Tucker, Valerie and Jazz shooting in. All three of them banked sharply when they saw the pair before them. Jazz moved silently over to where Danny was hunched over Sam's body on the ground, holding her hand tightly in his, his other arm under her body and lifting it up of the ground, her torso cradled in the crook of his elbow. His hand stroked across her face almost desperately as the clock tolled once more.

"Sam," he choked. "I–I'm so, sorry."

"Don't be sorry, stupid ghost," she murmured, her eyes flickering open, and a faint smile tugging on her lips.

The clock continued to chime behind them.

She heaved a breath. "I did that because I wanted to."

A drop of blood leaked from between her lips.

Danny glowered at the knife in her shoulder, and gently pulled out the curving blade, incinerating it in his hand as soon as it was free of her skin. Blood poured from the gash, but suddenly a pale hand appeared, and was pressed urgently against the bleeding.

Danny looked up into the eyes of his sister, silently thanking her, and then they both turned their attention back to Sam. Her violet eyes were trained on Danny, and she squeezed his hand gently.

"Danny," she whispered. "I'll miss you."

One tiny tear fell down her cheek, rolling down onto her neck as her hand slowly went limp in his.

Danny wanted to shout out, to scream – to beg her to come back. But he was frozen, trembling – unable to take his eyes off of her face as her head lolled down against his chest. His hand gripped the side of her face, his thumb moving across the skin, feeling the wetness of her tear on her cheek.

His eyes were pressed shut, and the only sound in the room was that of the old grandfather clock, chiming two last times. The last toll echoed in the silence of the room, three of the four ghosts bracing themselves for whatever they knew was coming; Tucker's hand slipping silently into Valerie's.

But nothing happened.

They started to look around them, and even Danny looked up from Sam to exchange a glance with his sister.

Suddenly all the doors of the room were blown open by a strange wind. It shot around the room overturning tables and chairs and billowing out all of the curtains. Danny hugged Sam's body closer to his own, squinting against the whipping wind.

The wind then began to swirl smaller, concentrating on the center of the room, creating a small flurry there, a few meters from the five huddled figures. Though the door at the end of the room the rest of the castle inhabitants then burst, summoned by the noise – or something else.

And in the middle of the vortex in the center of the room a bright white light suddenly began to shine. It intensified as the speed of the wind did, and suddenly exploded blindingly. Everyone in the room had to shield their eyes from the glare.

When they could open them once more, standing before them in the wake of the light was a ghost they had not seen for over a century.

Alira gazed out over the people she had come to know so well – though they had had no idea that she had been watching them in her gargoyle form from above, observing them as they found lives in the desolated castle. Her golden hair moved about her shoulders in an invisible wind, as did the light fabric of her glowing white dress move in it.

In her hand she held the black rose, one white-stained petal still clinging to it.

"The curse has been fulfilled."

Her voice echoed in the silence, all eyes trained on her – mostly in fear.

"The curse was broken before the last petal fell." She held up the flower in her hand as evidence. She suddenly smiled, and her young-looking face became beautiful. "Daniel Fenton, you love this girl. I know you do – I can see into your heart. And she loved you in return. Not only did she declare her love for you aloud, but she gave her life to save yours. She loved you with all of her heart.

"As such, the curse will be lifted, and all will be returned here to the way it was before."

She paused, and then dipped her head to the people in the room. As soon as she did, she was enveloped in that blinding white-green light once more. It then exploded, rocketing through the whole castle and shining out. The wave of light rolled down the mountainside, gaining speed as it flew out to cover the whole Amity area before dissipating into nothing.

* * *

Danny groaned. His head was pounding, but then the pain suddenly vanished. He sat up in surprise. Lying unconscious beside him were Tucker, Valerie, and his sister. In fact, they looked as though they were sleeping. 

He gently rose onto all fours and crawled over to them. He put his hand on Jazz's shoulder, and tousled her lightly.

"Jazz? Jazz!"

She murmured softly, and then lifted her head, peeking sleepily through her hair at him. Her eyes then widened in shock and she jerked herself up so that she was sitting on her feet.

"Danny! Y-you're human again!" Her smile stretched right across her face as she threw herself into his chest, hugging him tightly. She ruffled his hair as she pulled back, still grinning broadly. Danny looked at his hands, and was shocked to find that the faint glow around them was finally gone, and that they had turned a human color once more.

He looked up into Jazz's smiling face, a grin catching on his own.

The pair stood up, and looked around. All the inhabitants of the castle were human once more, sleeping where they had fallen. Danny looked down and saw that he was wearing the same clothes he had been, only that the injury on his chest was gone, along with all the aches from his fight with Vlad.

"Danny? Jazz?"

The pair suddenly whipped around. And standing behind them, wondrous smiles on their faces, were their parents – looking as good then as they had a century ago. Jazz squealed and ran forwards, throwing herself into her parents' arms. Danny walked over more hesitantly, his steps faltering.

Jack looked up from his daughter to his son, standing a foot from him, looking almost longingly at the trio. He silently held out his hand to the son he had not seen for one hundred years. Danny stared at the offering, and then at his mother who was now, too, looking at him with tears in her eyes.

"Danny," she whispered.

And with that, Danny launched himself into the huddle, savoring the long-lost feeling of his parents' embrace.

It was a long while before they broke apart. Danny looked down at his mother, and up at his father, who ruffled his hair affectionately.

"We missed you," Maddie told them unnecessarily.

And just like that, Danny remembered.

"Sam!"

Jazz's eyes widened as she, too, recalled.

"What happened to Sam!?"

"Danny, the ghost said that, that all would be returned to the way it was before…Sam isn't here."

Danny gritted his teeth and looked out of the window, where Amity Park could be seen nestled hundreds of feet below.

"But I know where she is."

* * *

The door slammed behind her as she fled once more down the hill. A scowl was set firmly on her face, dust billowing around her feet as she ran down the hill from her uncle's house. A string of curses was being muttered from her lips, as she drew near to the town finally and stomped along the street. 

She was not sure where she was going, or what she was doing. But her hand was firmly latched onto her opposite arm, protecting the bruise below from the people jostling her all over the place.

Suddenly her face smacked right into something. She bounced back, and would have landed on her butt in the middle of the street, if someone had not caught her.

She looked into the azure blue eyes of the man she had bumped into. He was young – maybe a year or two older than her, and very handsome. He had pitch-black hair, like her own, and his eyes were hauntingly blue.

For some reason, she felt as though she should recognize him.

"Sorry, Sir," she said, noticing that he still had his hands on the small of her back. "My fault."

"Sam."

She looked in surprise at his face.

"You know me?"

He said nothing, but nodded slowly, his eyes seeming…longing? She frowned.

"Do _I_ know _you_?" _Do you _stalk _me, or something?_

"You did. I-I don't know if you remember, if you remember me."

He suddenly removed his hands from her back, as if it was a great struggle, and she felt a strange pang of loss. He took up her hand gently and pressed his lips to it for a moment.

Perhaps a moment longer than he really should have.

"Danny Fenton."

"Oh, I know you!" She smiled up at him. "Your family owns the castle up on Amity Mountain!" Then suddenly her smile disappeared and here eyes widened. "Y-you have a sister, Jazz. And your best friend is called Tucker. He loves Valerie and…your hair…"

She unconsciously reached up, heedless of the people bustling around them, and ran her fingers through his hair. "I-It's black, but…and, your eyes…." She stared right into the blue orbs, shining with some emotion she did not recognize. Stronger than fondness, deeper than affection. They were burning, and suddenly in her mind they flashed to green.

She blinked in surprise, and wanted to take a step backwards, but instead found herself slipping her hands up his arms.

"I do know you, don't I?"

He nodded silently, his eyes beaming at her. They just stood there, their arms linked, staring at each other – heedless of the dozens of people meandering around them and giving them disapproving and displeased looks.

"Danny."

Her voice was an almost inaudible whisper. He grinned and nodded once more, and her own face broke into a wide smile as all her memories flooded back to her – as if remembering a dream.

She rose instantly onto her toes and slipped her arms up around his neck to pull him down. She touched her lips to his almost feverishly, relishing the feel of his own arms snaking around her back to pull her up closer to him.

He turned his face to kiss her cheekbone, relieved to find the skin there intact. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, and he set his own on top of hers, still hugging her in close to his body.

"Do you mind?!"

"There's an inn across the street!"

Danny scowled at the voices, and slipped his hand into Sam's.

"Want to go home?"

Sam thought instantly of her uncle's house on the hill and scowled. "No."

He grinned. "Well, how about mine, then?"

She reached up to kiss him on the nose. "Race you."

And with that she turned and raced away from him, weaving through the crowds and dodging around corners, Danny hot on her trail. The laughing pair streamed past an open-top carriage, not bothering to note the people inside.

Jazz sighed as she watched her brother chase Sam towards the forest, confident that they could take care of themselves. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, she turned to the two teenagers next to her on the driver's seat, practically rolling around with laughter.

She was pretty sure they were in hysterics.

"You two are incredibly immature, you know that?"

"But Jazz!" Tucker cried between laughs. "Did you see the look on Danny's face when he heard us?"

Valerie slapped him on the back as she started choking with laughter.

Jazz rolled her eyes. "You two deserve each other."

She then sighed and turned once more to watch Danny and Sam, who were now just on the edge of the forest, wrapped up in each other's arms.

She smiled and took up the reins.

* * *

**please review!!! reviews make the Fish happy!!!**

**well, what do you think of the ending...is it a bit?...i dunno. if you don't like it please tell me and give me a suggestion? that's just kinda where my muse died :D**

**until the next story! thanks to every single one of my reviewers - as always you are what helped me go on!!!**

**adios,**

**FunkyFish1991**


End file.
